Color Me Enthused
by SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash
Summary: A Spideychelle soulmate AU in which every word one writes shows up on the other's skin, but MJ refuses to become just another statistic.
1. So You Decided To Contact Your Soulmate

MJ hates the word soulmate more than anything in the world.

It seems to be all anyone ever talks about, whether it's on television or being gossiped about in the girls' bathroom at school. Ignoring E! New's debate over whether or not celebrity couples are really soulmates is easy, of course. But it's a bit harder to avoid now that they are juniors at Midtown.

They've done it, gotten halfway through high school, and now everyone is starting to think about their futures. Most parents, when talking about soulmates, advise their children to wait until they are at least juniors to attempt contact. It's the best time, many scientists studying the phenomenon agree- 76% of successful soulmate relationships were initiated somewhere between 17-19 years of age.

MJ refuses to allow herself to become another statistic.

As MJ walks down the hallways of Midtown the same way she does every day, everything about her seems to emphasize this. Her hair is pulled back into the same messy ponytail it always is, allowing wisps of hair to escape and frame her face in a way that makes her appear like some sort of survivor of an explosion. Her clothing is clearly chosen for convenience, not fashion, and her head is buried in a copy Tale of Two Cities.

MJ likes the French Revolution. Sure, it didn't really get anybody anywhere, but it was a release of tension- of suppressed rage and injustice running their course, of new ideas and theories battling in a clash of noise. Would she like it to happen again? Of course not. But she cannot deny that she finds it fascinating.

It is while she is turning a page that she notices it. Her skin tingles with warmth, just for a moment, and then she notices a splotch of dark blue ink along the heel of her hand. MJ's eyes narrow as she bites her lips and swipes at it, but the persistent smudge does not budge.

It must have been from her late night drawing, she tells herself. Her hands are always covered in ink after that. She does not remind herself of the fact that she scrubs her hands clean afterward, every time, determined not to leave a trace.

As far as MJ is concerned, she does not have a soulmate.

MJ gives up on the smudge and turns back to the book, trying to focus on the words. But her rhythm has been interrupted, and as MJ walks into her chemistry classroom she finally closes her book with a frustrated groan under her breath.

MJ plops into her seat in the back of the room, reaching for a sketchbook from her bag. She realizes that the little sound she made has caused most of the room to fall silent and that most pairs of eyes are on her.

"You look like hell," comments Flash Thompson, using the signature smirk that MJ would love dearly to smack off.

"Charming," MJ deadpans as she flips through the pages of her sketchbook, finding the newest bank page and beginning to run a pencil along the outline of a figure only she can see.

"Late night?" There are little titters of laughter throughout the room as he says this in a suggestive voice.

MJ does not look up, only reaches for a charcoal liner with an impassive face. "Yeah, spent it with your mother," she hums, and then the laughter is louder.

"Oh, dang," crows Ned Leeds, just another of Midtown's many students. She does not allow herself to think about the fact that Leeds is best friends with Peter Parker, the kid that MJ cannot seem to shake from her head.

"Dude, you just got roasted," Parker chimes in. MJ looks up then, and she is glad she did, just a bit. His eyes are shining as he glances between Leeds and MJ, and for a moment she feels like she is a part of something with the two nerds from her decathlon team.

"Shut it, Penis," Thompson snaps, shooting MJ a glare that she does not miss even though she is drawing.

Ned and Peter shut their mouths happily but their eyes are still filled with glee.

Their Chem teacher enters the room, and the moment is mostly forgotten. To anyone who knows MJ, she would not look any different than usual as she reaches for the Bunsen burner. But there is the ghost of a grin on her lips, and she does not feel the need to brush hair into her eyes to hide the pleasure in them.

* * *

By the time gym rolls around, MJ has successfully managed to become immersed in her book again. Gym is one of the better parts of her day because normally Coach Wilson will let her read as long as she pretends she is doing the exercises. When MJ looks up from her book to respond to her name for attendance, however, she is surprised by the serious look on Wilson's face.

"Book away, Michelle," Wilson instructs as he turns down to his clipboard.

MJ raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Has hell frozen over?"

Wilson gives a tired sigh as he looks back up at her, raising his own eyebrows in return. "Doesn't feel cold in this school, so I'm assuming not. But we're watching a video today, and I want you to pay attention."

"But it's health. If you want, I can correctly label every single bone in the human body, if someone would volunteer for a live demonstration."

The quip that would normally get a crack of a grin out of the Coach does not work today. "It isn't anatomy. Today, it's soulmates."

MJ does not even deign to reply to that, only shoots him an unimpressed glare.

"It's important that you all actually understand what you're getting yourselves into with this, and I think that the video could be really helpful," Wilson says firmly.

"Oh, if we're criticizing the nuclear family today, I can recommend an excellent resource-"

"This is one of the few topics covered in this class that I actually think is serious," Wilson hums.

"What, like you've got a soulmate?" snickers Flash. MJ rolls her eyes and returns to her book, opening it on the bench beside her and attempting to read concealed from view.

"I do, actually, and he's the only thing that gets me through dealing with you little assholes. So book away, Michelle, and let's continue."

The rest of the class is spent staring at a screen with Captain America's face plastered on it. Parker and Leeds are whispering about something again, the way that they always do, but MJ can't even pluck up the interest to listen through her annoyance.

Instead, she just stares at the grainy TV screen that is telling her the importance of a good impression and resolves even more firmly than ever that she will never give up control to fate, the asshole with a sadistic sense of humor.

* * *

It was later that night when it happened.

MJ had just arrived home from school and work, and she was thoroughly worn out. The day had been a long one at the coffee shop, and after dealing with entitled customers for a double-shift, MJ really just wanted some tea and sleep.

She had just finished showering and changing into an old pair of shorts and a tank top when she started to feel a warmth creeping up her arm. MJ froze, hardly daring to look down at it. She had just been about to turn off the lights and slip into bed, but instead, she looked down at her arm.

 _Are you there?_

MJ felt a shuddering gasp leave her lips as a finger traced the blue ink, the same as the smudge that had been on the heel of her hand this morning. The writing was a bit messy, but clearly, the writer had made an effort to keep it neat.

MJ could not help it- her heart was racing, and she was glancing around her empty room like a crazy person as if the person who had written on her arm could be there. But they were not, and MJ was alone in the attic of a tiny apartment in Queens.

What on earth was she supposed to do?

MJ was torn now. Should she ignore it and let the person think that their soulmate was dead, grab a pen and write a nice message telling the writer to leave her the hell alone?

Should she tell them yes, she was here?

MJ shook her head and looked at the mattress on the floor of the attic that was her bed. It had no sheets, only an old blanket on top, and her clothing was stuffed into an old dresser if it was not strewn about on the floor. There was little else in the room other than a single bookshelf that was practically groaning beneath the weight of piles of books, most of which were salvaged from the rubbish bin behind the library.

It would be a bit of a disappointment to this person, whoever they were if she wrote back. MJ did not want a soulmate, so why lead the other person on? Maybe they would just think that they did not have one, or that theirs had died at a very young age. MJ ignored the bag of felt-tips on the floor by her bed as she climbed onto the mattress, flipping off the light with the switch by her bed.

She had just rolled over to fall asleep when she felt the warm tingling again, and a frustrated groan left MJ's lips. She pulled her arm out from underneath the covers and read from the light of streetlamps that came through the skylight.

 _I know you're here. My hands were covered in ink yesterday night._

MJ felt her face heat up. Whoever her jerk of a soulmate was, they had taken the only appealing option she had by recognizing that she existed. She would have to be more careful when she was drawing, she reminded herself.

MJ gripped one of the fine-liners from the bag on the floor and sat up against the wall of the attic, writing by the orange light in an angry scrawl.

 _Fantastic. If you're done playing Sherlock, I am trying to sleep._

MJ shoved the cap back onto the fineliner, and slammed it down on the windowsill with much more force than was necessary. It wasn't the pen's fault, it wasn't even her soulmate's fault. But MJ did not like the way that her heart was pounding, the way that she was supposed to just decide to trust some random person she did not even know.

The tingling returned, and MJ was about to write a letter filled with choice-words that was long enough to give them both ink poisoning, but then she looked down at her arm.

It was one word, clearly written with a hesitant hand.

 _Goodnight._


	2. So Your Soulmate Hates Your Guts

Peter isn't sure what he had been expecting, but it definitely was not this.

He had wrestled with himself for most of the day before, unsure what to do about the curiosity that was eating at his insides. Luckily, Ned was too oblivious to notice that there was anything wrong, especially since he was still reeling from the successful night they had had two days prior. Ned loves being the guy in the chair all the time, but when they manage to stop a massive heist at Queens County Savings Bank, he really, really loves it. Peter was thrilled too, of course, but not as much as he should have been. Instead, while Ned kept him up until four in the morning on the phone, he had found himself watching as ink stains blossomed across his hands.

Peter knows he has a soulmate, and he has for a long time. They're very careful, meticulous, even, about washing away all and any traces of ink from their skin almost as soon as they appear. But they are an artist or some sort. Ink on their hands must be unavoidable when they are drawing or writing, because for stretches of time Peter's hands often tingle on and off as black and blue tinges his left middle finger like a bruise. It is right where a writing callus would be, and it is always the first thing to become covered in ink. Little lines and dots slowly spread across his hands as well, but never before that callus.

He cherishes them while they last, because as soon as they stop appearing they are scrubbed away.

Last night, he had been looking down at the unmarked skin of his hands, wishing that the warm tingling would appear and that ink would cover the bruises all across his knuckles from a fight with a thug. It was then that he found himself reaching for a pen and writing the words.

 _Are you there?_

Peter knows people who had spent hours preparing the first sentences they will write to their soulmates. Cindy Moon is one such person, and she and her partner are constantly updating their Instagrams with happy pictures together. Peter doesn't know if that is what he wants, but when he stared down at his bruised hands last night, he knew that he wanted to see something, anything. So he did the stupid thing and picked up the pen, and he knew he could not take back what he had done.

For a while, he had waited in the dark of his room. May was asleep and all of the lights were off except for his flashlight, which had miraculously not run out of battery even though it was at least four years old. There had been no reply, and so he had written more.

 _I know you're here, my hands were covered in ink yesterday night._

Every moment he waited felt uncertain, and Peter had ended up groaning and rolling over to shove his face onto his pillow. He knew he was an idiot for doing something so important on an impulse. But even if he doesn't know exactly what he wants to do about his soulmate, he does know he wants them in his life.

The tingling had caused him to sit up so fast that he almost hit his head on the bunk bed.

 _Fantastic. If you're done playing Sherlock, I'm trying to sleep._

Peter had spent several seconds gaping at the writing on his arm. He had felt a twinge of guilt and a ton of uncertainty. But almost against his will, he had written one final thing before switching off the flashlight.

 _Goodnight._

This morning, Peter sits in his bed staring at the writing that is left from the conversation of the night before. He slept poorly and woke early, so he takes the time to look at the words in the gray morning light. The ink from the crappy pen he used is slightly smeared, but his soulmate's ink is dark and unchanged against his skin. He studies the cursive, running his finger along each loop. Even the words that he can tell were written by an irritated hand are beautiful. They are tightly compacted and messy, and the writer clearly values speed over appearance. The 'i's are dotted with a sharp jab that he can practically envision in his mind's eye.

Fantastic, Peter thinks to himself, I'm already freaking out over, like, one sentence. He knows he is screwed.

Peter drags himself out of bed and stumbles to the shower, where he easily scrubs away his own writing. He doesn't want to leave it longer than is warranted, not with the person who so carefully washes away their own ink every time. If he hasn't pissed them off already by writing to them way too late, he knows he probably will by leaving his words on her skin longer than necessary. But even though his writing fades, his soulmate's does not. No matter what he does, it is their job to remove it themselves. They are probably still sleeping, so he takes the time to relish the feeling of it on his wrist while he still can. For once, he doesn't have to worry about it disappearing out of nowhere.

As Peter darts around his room, grabbing various books from where they are spread out on his desk, he tries not to think about what he is going to do about the whole soulmate thing. Contact has been established, so it technically wouldn't be too weird if he tried to talk again. But they did not seem enthused by his first attempt, and it was a bit difficult to tell through writing exactly the inflection of what was said.

But whatever, Peter decided as he yanked on a t-shirt with the periodic table of elements on it. He was going to try again, and this time, he wasn't going to fail.

* * *

"Thompson, as fascinating as your droning on about the Mariana Trench is, I asked you to compile facts on trench warfare." MJ's dry remark cuts through Flash's presentation, which has been going on for ten minutes of facts about the depths and the measurements of the various underwater trenches. The whole table lets out a collective sigh of relief, lowering their pens from the index cards they have been filling out.

These reports are something MJ introduced when she first became decathlon captain, and Peter is fairly sure that they are a large part of the reason why the decathlon team's scores are improving. Every week, MJ assigns three different people topics to research. Those people compile the most important facts and principles from the various subject, everything from geology to conspiracy theories. When everyone has made their reports, they present them to the whole team so that everyone can make flashcards with them. It's ingenious, and that's how Peter knows MJ came up with it herself.

Flash's jaw drops as MJ interrupts him, and his eyes widen. "No, you didn't say-"

"Yes, she did," Abe interrupts. "She told you three times."

Flash glares at Abe from across the table, and Peter raises an eyebrow as he too glances at his frustrated classmate. "There's no way you can know-" Flash begins.

By way of response, Abe ruffles through his meticulous notes until he comes to a specific page, holding it up for them all to see. There, Abe has the various report assignments and their topics, and Flash's is clearly labeled 'war in the trenches. Beside the assignments is an untitled column, and everyone's name has only one check next to it- other than Flash whose box has got three.

"That row is for-"

"Um, yes, I think we know what that's for, Abraham, thank you," Mr. Harrington interjects quickly.

Peter lets out a soft huff of laughter, and Flash immediately turns to glare at him. "No one asked you, Penis. At least I actually come to practice."

Harrington's eyes widen behind his spectacles, and he is clearly unsure how to handle the situation. "Flash, that's... Not... Something we say."

"Peter has been here every day for weeks," Ned informs Flash.

"Oh, are you defending your boyfriend now?" Flash crows, facing Ned. Ned recoils, appearing as though he has been physically slapped.

Peter's eyes flash over with red. He is ready to lean across the table and punch Flash in the face with his super strength for putting that look onto his best friend's face. It would be immensely satisfying to web Flash to the ceiling and to watch him there, not knowing what hit him. Before Peter can do anything he regretted, however, MJ is speaking.

"If only you got points for homophobia in practice rounds," she retorts, and there is a bite in her voice that Peter is fairly sure could do some serious damage. Flash's jaw drops, but MJ isn't finished. "If you're done screwing around, I want a report on trench warfare shared with me by seven o' clock tonight with sources linked. And do me a favor, make it twice the length."

"Give me a break, I didn't mean that Leeds was-"

"I really don't care what you meant," MJ cuts him off. Her eyes flash dangerously as she stares him down. "I care that you decided it was a good idea to imply that a certain type of sexuality is worthy of being used as an insult. Are we done, Eugene?"

Flash gawks at MJ. "I… I have plans," he fumbles.

MJ does not budge. "Cancel them."

Peter's eyes widen as he stares at MJ, along with everyone else. She seems thoroughly unbothered by the stares as a shell-shocked Harrington struggles with whether or not to intervene in the situation. He decides against it, and Peter knows that it's because MJ has handled it better than he ever could. Something about this is surprising to Peter in the best way.

Peter and Ned have known for a long time that MJ is perfectly capable of shutting Flash up. But that is not what is so remarkable about this; MJ did it for Ned, who is currently looking her that she is a goddess.

"Now," MJ announces, her voice as unbothered as ever as she sits back down. "Let's break into groups, come on. I want everyone done with at least one set of flashcards in fifteen minutes." There is chatter as they pair off, and MJ moves to pull her own cards from her bag. For a moment, neither Peter or Ned moves, and then Peter's best friend speaks up.

"Um, MJ-" Ned begins, clasping his hands in his lap. She looks up, raising an expectant eyebrow. "Thanks for… Erm… You know."

MJ looks back down at her cards, and though she is not smiling, Peter can see a hint of pink in the undertones of her cheeks. "Yeah, whatever," she mutters. For a moment, there is quiet between them.

"So…" Peter says slowly. "There's an odd number, do you want to study with us?"

When MJ looks up at him, there is surprise in her eyes for just a moment. Then, slowly, MJ begins to nod. "Fine," she replies slowly, but she doesn't look away the way Peter is expecting her to. In fact, as they begin to quiz her, there is a little glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes, one that is mirrored in Peter's own thoughts.

* * *

He manages to gather up the courage during Pre-Calculus.

Peter grips a black Papermate in his hand, spinning it between his fingers hesitantly. Finally, when he can't stand it anymore, he uncaps the pen and holds it to his skin.

 _You're an artist, right?_

The ink sinks into his skin with a finality that sends his stomach flopping, and Peter sets the pen down. He is not expecting any sort of response since his soulmate tried to ignore him the last time he made contact. This is why it catches him off guard when the tingling starts almost right away. Peter stares at his skin as the words form, as though a ghost is writing them.

 _You're a stalker, right?_

He has to hold back an amused breath as he picks up his pen again.

 _I notice when you get a lot of ink on our hands. It's a lot of different colors._

Peter chews his lip, trying not to think about the way that his heart speeds up when he writes 'our hands.' His soulmate takes a bit longer to respond this time, causing him to actually attempt to do a problem until he feels the tingling again. He is probably doing it wrong anyway, so Peter turns to look at his arm.

 _I write and I draw. I don't really see how it's any of your business._

Peter winces when he sees this appear on his arm. Last night he had been able to pass off his soulmate's hostility as sleep-deprivation, but this is something else. He picks up his pen with a shaking hand.

 _I mean, we're soulmates. I guess I wanted to know more about you._

The response is immediate.

 _And what if I'm not interested in having a soulmate?_

Peter lets out a sharp breath, and he feels a sinking feeling in his chest. Is this because of his awkward attempt at contact? Is it his fault? He doesn't know, but with heavy fingers, he writes back anyway. The words feel like a betrayal of every fiber of his being, but they're true, so he forces himself to write it.

 _Then that's your choice, and I get to respect it._

Peter lets out a shaky breath, blinking several times as he turns to look at a whiteboard filled with problems that he knows he won't be able to solve later. There is an ache in his chest that he. doesn't want to think about, but then the tingling resumes.

 _I draw mostly sketches with brush pens._

When he looks down at this, he has to blink several times to register what it says. When he does, the ghost of a hopeful smile slides onto his lips, and he turns back to his math page.

He's not going to push this, the fragile bond that is forged by ink on another's arm. Right now, he is just going to do his math homework and try to wipe that stupid smile off of his face.


	3. So You Want to Avoid Your Destiny

At work for the rest of the day, MJ is finding it strangely hard to focus on her current job, an old machine that she is completely gutting and reworking from the bones up. When her boss, Eddie, received the old computer he was halfway out to throw it in the trash after one look. MJ had voiced for the old machine. She knew that she could fix it using its parts combined with the assortment of odds and ends available to her, but it would be more of a long-term project. Still, if she could do it MJ knew it would be worth good money, and she was convinced that she could. That was the beginning of her project, the one that is essentially her baby and her favorite to work on out of all of the others.

Working on Shelley (named after MJ's favorite historical badass, the queen of goth) normally calms her down immensely. MJ likes computers. She understands how they work, and there is a logic to them that there is not to people. If everything is in its proper place in a computer, then it will function, and if there is damage, all that MJ has to do is read the signs and locate the problem: switch out a wire, replace a few odds and ends, and then everything will operate perfectly again. People aren't like that; every single one is set up essentially the same on the inside, and yet somehow the same setup produces countless results. You have people like Alfred Nobel, Marie Curie, and Louis Pasteur with exactly the same mechanical setup as Donald Trump. The diversity of the single system is just too much for MJ sometimes, most times.

Today, however, the therapeutic aspect of working on her favorite project does nothing to help her whirring mind. It is because she told her soulmate that she does sketches, mostly with brush pens. She has told them, the person that she is determined not to share her heart with, about what she does and what she loves. To anyone else, this might not have seemed a big deal, but to MJ it is the most foolish decision she could ever make. MJ finds the easiest way to break habits is by not forming them in the first place, and this is the one thing she has always told herself that she will never do.

Still, somehow, MJ had found herself confiding in someone she does not even know, telling them something that most of the people who see her every day barely know. MJ brings her sketchbook and pens everywhere, but no one really cares enough to watch or question her about them. They know she draws, but not what or how. Now, someone somewhere in the world knows a part of her heart, and she is terrified that since the first piece is in their hands, the rest will come tumbling out before she can stop them.

MJ realizes that she has been attempting to replace the same cable onto the motherboard of the computer for the past three minutes. Letting out a frustrated groan, she snaps out of it and begins to work to attach the delicate cable. Then, of course, she nearly drops it when she feels the tingling on her arm. The sensation is becoming more and more familiar, to her annoyance. It starts out almost like breath on her skin, and then in the shape of the words, it heats up until it is just below burning. When it finishes, the cool air feels heavenly on her skin every time, but it also seems to tingle all over.

Irritation fills MJ as she sets down the cable she has been using, and then she turns to roll up her long sleeves. MJ has taken to wearing long-sleeved clothing, even though it is not quite turning cooler yet. If she does not, she is scared that someone might see ink pooing on her skin and want to know more. Even though MJ does not really do the whole 'friend' thing, even complete acquaintances tend to be nosy about soulmates. Celebrities are constantly scoured for ink, and there are complete fan sites dedicated to comparing ink and tattoos between celebrities and based on location. Since a tattoo on one's skin translated the same way as the basic ink does, lots of people follow the debate with interest. However, this also means that many people whose soulmates just thought the tattoo looked cool end up thinking their soulmate is a celebrity. It wouldn't be the same for her of course, but MJ does not feel like answering questions from anyone, especially the nosy girls who spend their time keeping track of Midtown's relationships.

MJ yanks up the sleeve of her long shirt, glancing down at the arm that she had felt the warmth from. It is written on her bicep, and the words cause her eyes to narrow.

 _Are we going to talk about this?_

They are hopeful, gently prodding. They want to know more.

MJ picks up the pen she uses to record the steps she takes for the paperwork, sliding it between her fingers as she begins to write. She does not want to lead them on, and she really, really wants to get back to work. Or just life, without having to worry about this. That would be great.

 _No. I'm at work, and either way I would rather not._

Almost as soon as she sets down the pen, the words begin to appear again. MJ resolutely ignores them. She hooks the cable into place instead, relishing in the soft 'click' that she can hear as it fastens exactly where it is supposed to be. MJ likes to put things where they belong: words, wires, thoughts. The latter is the one she currently struggles with. MJ keeps herself from looking down at her arm for a good two minutes, but finally, the curiosity overwhelms her and she has to know.

 _I'm not saying you owe me anything. But we're soulmates, and whatever we choose involves me as much it does you. So I think I should know._

He has a point, and MJ runs a hand through her hair. It has long been let out of its kinky ponytail since she likes it better loose while she works, just so long as it does not get into her eyes. MJ chews her lip and traces the grip on the pen with her finger. Finally, she presses it to her skin by her wrist.

 _Fine. But I have work right now, and this is making it a bit difficult to get things done. We can talk later_

There is a pause, and then the words start to outline themselves right beneath her own scrawl.

 _Okay. What do you do?_

She raises an eyebrow at the words. Her soulmate is trying to get her talking, to know more until she cannot back away. She may have thrown them a freebie this morning, but she will not again. She does not want to share with them anymore, because she is not going to be with them. If she is not going to allow herself to encourage the relationship, then why should she give over pieces of herself?

 _I'm a killer for hire._

Her soulmate does not bother her for the rest of her shift at work.

* * *

Late that evening, MJ arrives home to the apartment. Their apartment is several stories up, so it is a long walk up the stairs to get there after being stuck in a chair for hours. By the time MJ brushes past a couple making out in the stairwell to open the door, her legs are screaming for relief. She really does need to work out more, she knows, but that would require motivation, and MJ is notoriously short on that where books aren't concerned.

It takes her a moment to fumble for the key in the pockets of her jacket, and she finally finds it in the last one she tries. Her Ravenclaw keychain rattles as she turned the key in the lock and steps into the dingy apartment. MJ slips off her shoes and steps onto the carpet in only her socks, straightening them on a mat that has clearly seen better days. She takes back her keys and closes the door behind her, looking down the extremely narrow hallway of their apartment. MJ hesitantly hangs her jacket on a hook on their door, peering into the nearest doorway that leads to the living room.

"Mom?" she calls hesitantly.

"Oh, lower the voice, hon'," is her mother's reply, though it isn't unkind. MJ steps into the plainly furnished room, which is empty of everything but a sofa and a side table. Her mother is stretched out on the sofa with her IV by her head. An old knit blanket is haphazardly thrown over her lap, and there is a book in her lap that is closed.

"Sorry," MJ hums, stepping into the room and walking to close the blinds behind the sofa. They don't make the room much darker since they don't have much exposure to sunlight, but it gives MJ something to do. "Migraines again?"

"Don't you know it," sighs her mother, and when MJ turns, she is sure to take in every line on her mother's tired face. Her eyes have smile lines around them, but these days the frown lines on her brow seem more pronounced than the crow's feet ever were. Her mother's head is wrapped in a scarf, and her dark skin looks sunken to MJ. "Couldn't even get through it." She gestures to the volume in her lap, and MJ shrugs.

"That's okay. I couldn't get through it, and I don't have stage IV cancer," she offers, giving her mom a slight smile.

"Oh, don't make jokes, honey," her mother protests, but a couple quiet chuckles escape anything. "Don't you mock my reading tastes, child. I'll read what I like."

"I would agree with you if it was anything but Eclipse," MJ responds. Their tiny kitchen is joined to the living room, and MJ steps into it to glance into their empty pantry. "What do you feel like tonight? Rice or toast?"

"Oh, honey, I don't think I can eat today," her mother sighs. "My stomach's been all upset, you know."

"You need to eat, Mom," MJ says seriously. "I know it's hard... But you need the nutrients, and rice and carrots will help keep the nutrients in your body longer."

"Are you referring to my bowel movements, child?"

"Someone has to, especially since the Twilight Saga is probably worsening the nausea."

MJ's mom let out a snort. "Fine, girl. We can have rice. You go upstairs and change, though, take a bath or somethin'. You look dead on your feet."

MJ hesitates, but the idea of resting for a moment does sound nice. "Fine," she concedes. "But don't you think I'll forget." She turns and walks up the stairway at the end of the hallway, entering her attic room. There, she tosses her backpack onto the floor and turns to flop on her mattress. It is only when she sees the bag of fineliners on the floor that MJ remembers, and she lets out a soft sigh. Half of her doesn't want to contact him, but if she waits until much later he might be sleeping. MJ may not want a soulmate, but she's still honorable, and she doesn't want to go back on her word.

Picking up a black fineliner, MJ rolls up the sleeve of the arm she hasn't used yet. She's ambidextrous, something that makes art much easier. Coincidentally, it also means that she can hold her book with whatever hand she needs to so she can read while doing homework. MJ begins to write, taking a deep breath.

 _So, what exactly is there to talk about?_

She doesn't want to make any assumptions here. All MJ wants is to figure this out, and to be done. Only a couple seconds later, the warmth starts to bubble underneath her skin.

 _You're my soulmate. Are we ever going to meet, or talk about who we are? What exactly do you want?_

That question causes her breath to catch in her throat. They are not imposing a list of demands onto MJ, the way that she has come to expect. Lots of soulmates do that first thing as if it is their job to make sure their partner checks off every item on their list of desired qualities. But they aren't doing that, they want to know her expectations. Well, whatever they are, her soulmate has been their complete opposite thus far.

Slowly, MJ pens out the next statement with a finality that shows in the dark strokes of the ink.

 _I don't want a soulmate._

For a moment, there is no reply, and MJ assumes they are processing what she just said. Finally, warm letters pop up on the skin of her forearm.

 _But you've got one, and there isn't really anything that either of us can do to change that. So what does that mean for us?_

Us? MJ bites her lip, shaking her head.

 _There isn't an us. We aren't a thing, and we won't ever be._

 _There is a pause._

 _Is it because you don't believe in soulmates? Because if that's your reason, then boy do I have proof for you._

MJ scoffs. A surprising amount of people don't believe in the phenomena, even those who have a soulmate. There are many crazy conspiracy theorists with a million of ideas what it is, trying to explain soulmates away. MJ sort of sympathizes there. Sometimes, it seems like it would be so much easier if she could just explain it all away.

 _I believe in them. I just don't want one._

 _Why?_

MJ stares down at the words. It is a valid question... One that has no answer and too many, all at once. Slowly, MJ begins to write.

 _I don't like the idea of letting the universe pick for me when I trust my own judgment better._

That's good enough, for now... Maybe.

 _But what if your judgment and the universe happen to agree?_

MJ blinks and stares at the words, and she feels her breathing quicken. Her soulmate has every right to ask these questions, but they are harder to answer than they should be.

 _When I allow my judgment to be tainted by the decision of something else, it isn't mine anymore._

 _You seem awfully convinced._

 _I am._

The words are moving quickly now, one after the other, and the pace is not difficult to maintain for MJ. If it's possible, she's actually enjoying the quick nature of their discussion.

 _And what if we didn't do the whole romance thing, if you don't want it?_

 _What?_

 _I get it that you don't want a soulmate, and it makes sense. But what if we just write to each other? Explore this, without the labels attached?_

MJ does not respond immediately, and before she can, he is writing again.

 _I'm not saying we do anything crazy. Just talk sometimes? You don't have to tell me who you are or where you are, and we don't have to meet. Sort of like texting, but on our arms._

 _What an apt analogy._

 _I try._

MJ scoffed, but it was more of a laugh than she cared to admit.

"Michelle, are you changed, honey?" her mother's voice carries up through the thin walls.

"Yeah, one second," she calls back, wincing. MJ turns to her arms, which are covered in ink.

 _Okay. But I have to go, I have dinner._

 _Me too. I've got stuff to do._

 _So..._

MJ hesitates. She knows what she should say. But her soulmate is being respectful, she doesn't think he'll push her. She doesn't need to give him anything important. Maybe he'll get bored with her, and it'll solve her problem for her.

 _I'll write you later. But for now, I'm going to wash it off._

There is a pause, and MJ gets up. She does not feel the tingling until she is in the bathroom, having pulled off her shirt so she can wash both arms. The last words appear on her right palm:

 _Thank you._


	4. So Your Soulmate's Not So Sure

Even though his soulmate said he can contact them, it still makes him way more nervous than it should.

The next day that Peter is at school, he spends half of his first hour trying to think of what to say and the other half convincing himself not to say anything at all. Second hour he chooses to try to drown out the thoughts by watching YouTube videos of the more absurd Spider-Man theories, including one that it is an "unnamed" employee of Tony Stark, who Peter recognizes as Happy. Peter texts the link to that particular link to Happy, to which the older man responds with a middle finger emoji. Peter is impressed; he didn't think that Happy knew what an emoji was.

He is also bored, coincidentally.

Finally, in his fifth hour class, Peter can't stand it any longer. He pulls out his pen and begins to write under the desk.

 _So how old are you?_

Peter caps the pen and tries to focus on the lecture, but that really isn't working for him, so he is grateful when his arm begins to tingle in reply.

 _I'm sixteen. What about you?_

Peter grins down at his arm, writing smugly now.

 _I'm seventeen. I'm older than you._

It only takes a moment now for their reply to come.

 _I bet it's not that much._

 _September 4, 2001._

 _Shit. I'm March 17, 2002._

 _So not only am I older than you, but I'm older than you by a lot._

 _It's less than a year, get over yourself._

Peter smirks down at the writing on his arm. Well, he's found something out at least. His soulmate is roughly the same age as he is.

 _Is there anything you want to know about me?_

He hesitates, shifting as he looks down at the ink. If there's one thing that he's figured out about his soulmate, it's that they're not big on going back on their word. This is going to be a hard question for them to answer because it'll make them admit that they're at least a little bit interested.

 _Why do you care so much about having a soulmate?_

The words that appear on his arm cause Peter to take in a sharp breath. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it was not this... This question that he isn't sure how to answer. Peter hesitates, and finally, he begins to move the pen.

 _Doesn't everyone care?_

The writing after comes immediately, too quickly for Peter to blink more than a few times.

 _You can't answer a question with another question, dumbass. It doesn't really matter to me why they care. Only why you do._

Peter turns over the pen in his hands, chewing his lip. His soulmate is right, of course... It isn't important what other people think, only what he does. But what does he think?

Peter has so much in his mind that he's not sure a whole body could contain every word.

Peter has seen a beautiful union of soulmates twice in his life, and both times it has been cut off before it can reach its full potential. But while it was growing, flourishing, it was strong... Not perfect, exactly. But healing. The power of contentment, security in the relationship made his parents and Aunt May and Uncle Ben powerful, because they understood what it was to love in a way that no one else could understand.

And Peter wants that.

The pen is moving before he can even think about it.

 _There are people in my life who have been soulmates like we are. And when they found each other it was right in a way that a lot of other things aren't._

He hesitates, and then Peter realizes he has more to say.

 _I've seen people lose that, and way too early. I don't want to lose my chance before I am able to cherish it._

There is a pause, and Peter turns up front. He is certain that by now he has scared his soulmate away with all of this talk when he knows that they're not interested in having the thing that he's described. But to his surprise, his arm starts tingling over a few minutes later.

 _You sound like a Hallmark movie._

Peter almost snorts in amusement, glancing up at the front. However, everyone is so spaced out trying to pay attention to the lecture that he's safe. Before he can write anything else, his arm is tingling again.

 _I've never seen it work. From what I've seen, all it brings is complications and a lot of pain._

Peter frowns. They're divulging far more than he expected... Maybe that's why they don't want a soulmate. Peter knows that sometimes, even if people are 'meant to be,' they can enter relationships uninformed or with a power imbalance. In his mind, it's the same risk that anyone runs entering a relationship. But he's not a fool, he knows that commenting on it and actually living it are two very, very different things.

 _I'm not saying every time it's perfect. But if both parties are willing to work, then I think it can make it._

 _I think that maybe this isn't exactly the kind of conversation we want to have in ballpoint pen._

Point made. Peter spins the pen between his fingers as he thinks about what to say.

 _That's fair. So is there anything else you'd like to know about me?_

It's a risk, Peter knows that. If there's one thing that he has learned so far about his soulmate, it's that they don't like going back on their word. Even if he wouldn't mock them for it, it seems to be a matter of pride more than anything else. This question is basically asking them to go back on that for him. Peter isn't surprised when an answer doesn't come, and he moves to make an attempt to listen to the lecture. He is failing miserably at it when he is surprised by the warmth on his arm again, and Peter glances down.

 _Well, I guess I'd like to know roughly where you are. Not anything drastic. But I'm in the USA on the East Coast. What about you?_

He raises an eyebrow at that. Peter's interest is piqued because this means that there's a potential that they've met before, even if it was brief. There are lots of stories of soulmates who see one another every day without talking, such as someone finding out that their favorite barista is their soulmate. Of course, he could be thinking of nothing, reaching for things that are going to turn up to be empty air. Because Peter knows that his soulmate doesn't want to know him, and he knows that he is going to have to respect that no matter what. If they want to be with him, he wants it to be willingly, or not at all.

 _I live on the East Coast, too. New York._

There is a pause, and then a warmth on his arm. By now, almost all of his left arm is covered in writing, and Peter doesn't know where he will write once he is out of room. The new words form in a smaller script than the others, and clearly, his soulmate is encountering the same problem.

 _That is vaguely alarming._

 _He grins down at the writing and picks up his pen again._

 _Why, because you don't think you'll be able to stop falling in love with me if you find me?_

 _You wish._

He did, but that was beside the point.

 _Then why?_

For a moment, nothing appears. Then, his arm is warming up, and the script appears on his other wrist. It is just as neat as it was on the other arm, and Peter is impressed. He is going to have a hard time keeping things neat.

 _Because you could be stalking me or something._

 _I'm not, Scout's honor._

 _Yeah, whatever. I have to go._

Peter glances up at the clock on the wall. The hour is going to end soon, and he is going to have to go wash the ink from his arms. Peter doesn't want Ned to think that he doesn't trust him. Peter would trust Ned with almost anything, just not this... Not yet. This is fragile, and it feels like something that is only meant to be touched by him and by his soulmate. It's delicate, and Peter doesn't want to break it before it even has a chance to bloom.

 _Me too. I'll see you later._

As the bell rings, Peter feels the tingling again. Looking down at his arm, he watches the words blossom.

 _I'll be counting the minutes... Just kidding, I have shit to do. I'll write if I have the time._


	5. So You Found Your Soulmate's Identity

It's surprisingly easy for MJ to fall into a routine with Peter Parker and Ned Leeds, and it's as quick and inevitable as falling asleep during Mr. Harrington's lectures.

After the Firefly marathon at Parker's house, the distance between them at the lunch table closes easily. It starts when Parker brings the rest of her bag of gummy worms with him, and she moves next to Leeds so she can steal a decent amount of the candies. Then, the conversation moves on to Harry Potter, and MJ is stuck at the table for the rest of the lunch period because there is no way she can leave a conversation about that fandom. The next day, she has to sit with them so they can continue the conversation (or else she wouldn't be sitting with them, she tries to tell herself). This cycle continues, again and again, until three weeks have passed and MJ wouldn't sit anywhere else if someone paid her.

Parker and Leeds make everything feel so easy. It's easy to sit by one another in Harrington's class and make fun of the wildlife documentaries that he plays on the projector, and it's easy to tell Flash Thompson to back off at the same time in three different insults. It's easy to go to Peter's house every other day and watch a movie, and it's easy to talk to May with Ned about every embarrassing story that May has from Peter's childhood while the topic of discussion protests.

It's easy to sit there while the two dweebs are asleep on the sofa and to think of them as her friends.

What MJ doesn't know, at least at first, is to what extent the other two feel the same thing. She can tell as December approaches that they are comfortable with her presence and that they seek her out. However, MJ isn't stupid. She knows that Parker and Leeds have been best friends since they came to the school, and probably for a long while before then. She can't compete with that, and so she doesn't try to. She doesn't expect them to run to her with their secrets.

Until Ned does.

It's last hour Honors American Literature, and MJ is currently three chapters ahead of the rest of the class in The Scarlet Letter. She is just reaching the part where Pearl screws everything over for Hester (MJ's phrasing, not Hathorne's) when she feels a sharp tap on her shoulder.

"MJ?" Ned whispers from beside her. Mr. Weathers continues to drone on, meaning that the crabby old bore of a teacher hasn't heard Ned. Luckily, thanks to his hearing aids, they can count on having a virtually unnoticed conversation.

MJ carefully shuts the school-issued book in her lap, glancing over at the dork beside him. His brow is furrowed, and his eyes are filled with concern. Clearly, Ned has been struggling with whether or not he should even get her attention, and so MJ makes sure that her, "What do you want, loser?" is gentler and slightly more playful than usual.

"I-" Ned begins, and then he hesitates. She can tell he is questioning himself, and she turns to angle herself towards him with her body so that he is not left to wonder whether or not he has her full attention. No, she has never done the whole… confidant thing. But she also doesn't like the anxiety that she can see in every line in Ned's face, and so she is going to try her best for him. She would never admit it, but he makes every stupid school day much easier, and she really does care for the nerd who is always wearing some sort of fandom shirt.

"I think there's something wrong with Peter," Ned finally confesses, glancing around over the classroom to make sure no one is listening to them.

MJ's eyes widen in surprise, but she makes sure not to let it spread to her whole face. She tells herself that it is so that no one accidentally thinks she cares, but really she doesn't want to add to his worry. "Not that I care, but what exactly do you think is wrong?" she queries, arching an eyebrow. "You've known him longer, so I can't be expected to know which of his problems are new and which are just side effects of being a massive dweeb."

Ned is not unnerved by her slightly gruff manner, and she knows that he can see through it. A few weeks ago that might have bothered her; it was her goal then to be untouchable, unreadable. But somehow, the fact that he understands her so easily is comforting.

"He's hiding something," Ned mumbles, drumming his fingers on the leg of his pants. "He's all- all shifty, you know?"

"Shifty," MJ repeats slowly, screwing and unscrewing the cap on her pencil as her mind whirs.

Her mind races as she struggles to figure out what exactly it is that Ned has picked up on. MJ has known since a few weeks into the school year that Peter Parker has a little extracurricular that involves fighting the assholes of Queens. He isn't exactly as good at keeping his secret as he thinks he is, but of course, MJ is not going to call him out on it. For one thing, MJ has a policy against intruding on other people's secrets. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her, and that is that. For another, if she did, the city would be left without the layer of defense that is Spider-Man.

But she thought Ned knew.

The two spent a good portion of their sophomore year mumbling about something excitedly together, and they aren't as good at whispering as they think they are. At this point, it's a miracle that no one else has put two and two together. But it was always the two of them, buzzing quietly about something while watching videos of a suited vigilante stopping a bus crash or beating the crap out of some thugs.

They've gotten better at hiding it lately, but still, there are moments when she'll come to the lunch table and they'll abruptly stop talking, and then suddenly they have to cancel on plans for the evening. So if Ned doesn't know about Spider-Man, what could they possibly have been talking about? MJ's mind is still whirring when Ned continues, and what he says is something that comes out of nowhere.

"Yeah, shifty. I don't know for sure, but I think that maybe… Well, I think Peter might have started talking with his soulmate."

MJ's head snaps up, and for a moment she completely forgets to stop looking surprised. Her eyebrows have launched off into the atmosphere of her hairline, and she cannot stop herself from blinking rapidly in an attempt to center herself. After a moment, she manages to compose herself. Her eyebrows make a smooth landing back where they're supposed to go, and her voice barely sounds strained at all when she murmurs, "Really?"

"Yeah," Ned says, and there is a grave expression on his face. It is almost a mix of dread and mourning, and it sends a pang through MJ. "I keep catching him, like, looking down his sleeve, you know? And I know it's December and all, but he's wearing really long sleeves. Like, long undershirts under long sleeves. And he's a loser like me, but we're losers with self-respect. You're not going to catch us wearing long underwear, we're better than that. And yesterday, in study hall, his sleeve rolled up a little bit and I saw writing."

MJ struggles to keep her face neutral as she processes it.

Of course Peter Parker has a soulmate. If the universe managed to find one for someone as difficult as MJ, who doesn't even want one, then surely it was the easiest thing in the world to find one for someone as wholesome as Peter Parker. It's not a sin or anything. He couldn't be expected to return the obsession that she's had for him for years, because that isn't really his fault. Sure, it's sort of his fault for having that curly brown hair that MJ imagines is the softest thing ever, for smelling like laundry detergent and mint toothpaste, and for having a stupid, crooked smile that lights up MJ's day and makes everything feel a little less heavy. All of that is just how things are; it's MJ's fault for falling so hard, for not coming to terms with reality a long time ago.

How much of a hypocrite is she, anyway? She's been contacting her soulmate, too. They've had a few conversations, about lighthearted things. They've just talked about dumb arbitrary things; MJ has taken to occasionally writing an extremely random question whenever she has a moment.

 _Pick one: sleeping with socks, or sleeping barefoot._

 _Coffee or Tea? There is a wrong answer._

 _Headphones or earbuds, go._

The answers are easy for them to answer (socks, both as long as there's sugar, and earbuds), and they give MJ a little bit of insight into their personality. It's fun, almost, though she would never admit it even if someone paid her. But she hasn't taken them too seriously since the one long conversation they had, and they don't talk about what they are.

She can't take them seriously, because she knows she's fallen for Peter Parker.

It hurts that Peter wouldn't do the same for her, even though MJ knows it's unfair to expect that of him. Their relationship is the closest MJ has ever come to having friends, and she knows that friends don't force feelings onto each other. It's not his fault that she's an idiot… It's hormones or something. Either way, that doesn't stop her from feeling hopelessness set in. If he has a soulmate, then there's no reason for Peter to make a bargain with a loner from school when he has a chance at "true love" with some preordained love.

"MJ? You with me?" Ned interrupts her thoughts anxiously, and MJ's eyes snap up to him. "Am I just being crazy?"

"No… No, you're not," she sighs. "As weird as the idea of you two idiots with soulmates is, if you think that that's what going on, then I trust you."

"Then why hasn't he told me?" Ned asks, frustrated. MJ can practically taste his uncertainty, and she sympathizes. His voice is a mixture of relief at having his thought process validated and confusion.

"I don't know," MJ admits. "Granted, I don't know why guys do anything. I stopped trying after Thompson started making Vines in middle school. But there's really only one thing you can do to figure it out, and that's to take action." Her voice is firm, but it isn't without understanding. This is one of her rare moments of sympathy, the moments that only Ned Leeds and her mother have ever managed to coax out of her. As she examines her feelings, MJ realizes that she actually is protective of Leeds, and she wants to make this better.

"So you just want me to walk up to him and ask why he hasn't told me?" Ned questions incredulously. "Who do you think I am, you? I can't just do that, I'd never get it out."

MJ rolls her eyes, but he has a point. "Fine," she decides, opening the book in her lap again. "I'll do it."

As MJ finds her page, there is complete silence from next to her. When Ned finally speaks, it is in a shocked whisper. "Really?"

"Why not?" she replies, attempting for nonchalance. "Saves me having to listen to this again."

For a moment, the silence stretches on. Then, in a voice that is a fraction more cheerful, Ned speaks again. "Thank you."

MJ looks up, and for a moment she is frozen. Ned is looking at her with eyes that hold a mixture of admiration and gratitude, and MJ barely knows what to do with it. No one has ever looked at her like that, like they would trust her with anything. After a moment, she finally manages to say, "Don't mention it, Leeds."

Ned regards her for a moment, and then he finally says, "Is it weird to say that, like, I know we've only been friends for a few weeks, but I don't know what we would do without you?"

MJ is shocked by the little thrill of warmth that goes through her body when Ned says the word "friends." Still, there is a little grin tugging at her lips when she surprises herself by replying.

"It is weird, yeah. But I feel the same."

* * *

"-No, Parker, I'm talking about Georgia the country, not the state. Sometimes I think you have a better concept of the geography of Middle Earth than your own planet," MJ corrects him.

"You're not wrong," Ned chimes in from across the table.

This is the third question in a row that Peter had gotten wrong, and though she is managing to keep her face straight, she is slightly confused as to why he is struggling this much. Is it his soulmate, like Ned said? The idea causes a little hint of an ache to form in her stomach, but she ignores it.

"Right, sorry," Peter mumbles. He is looking down at his laptop, and MJ frowns.

"I need you to focus, Parker. We're competing soon, and-"

"I'm really sorry, guys," Peter interrupts, looking up at her. His brow is furrowed as he slides his phone into his pocket and slams his laptop shut. "Um, but something came up. The Stark Internship, there's been an emergency with one of the projects I'm working on."

MJ raises an eyebrow and glances over at Ned's laptop screen. There's a news alert notification scrolling across the top, but there's no way to figure out what it says without actually leaning over and pressing the button. She might have done it if it was her laptop, but she couldn't do that without drawing attention. Did she know that Peter was Spider-Man? Yes. Did she want to let them know that she knew that? Hell no.

MJ tried to quell the worry rising in her chest, swallowing. "Right," she hummed, pulling out a stack of world history cards and turning to Ned. "Well, that'll give us a chance to hammer down on these, Leeds. No one can save you now."

"I swear, if you ask me about fandom history again-"

"You need to learn the heritage of your people, Leeds. The nerd culture needs to be preserved."

"See ya later," Peter mumbles, unzipping his sweater as he turns to the door. Parker practically jogs out of the classroom as MJ turns back to the cards.

MJ is about to start quizzing Ned when she hears murmuring from the other side of the room. Captain mode kicks in when she looks up and sees everyone crowded around Flash's laptop, and MJ groans as she stands. "Be right back, Leeds," she mumbles, setting down her copy of Crime and Punishment with a little sigh.

"Thompson, something you would like to share with the rest of us?" MJ interrupts, raising an eyebrow. From behind the screen, Flash, Abe, and Cindy jerk their heads away to look up at MJ with wide eyes.

"There's a huge fire across the city," Cindy exclaims, her eyes wide and reflecting with the bright light of the screen.

"It's in an apartment complex on Thornbrook and Mulberry, " recites Abe, turning the computer to face MJ.

They are currently watching a news site that is broadcasting the breaking news, and MJ's own eyes widen. The screen is showing a huge, blazing building that is leaping with bright orange flames. There are people huddled on the street in front of it, watching as firemen attempt to battle the blaze. They are trying, but MJ can tell that the fire was started on one of the lower floors, meaning that there is a lot of structural damage.

"That's, like, a couple houses down from mine," Flash cuts in. "Do you think they pay for any smoke damage, or-"

"Okay, you know what?" MJ interrupts. "I would rather swallow my fist than hear the end of that sentence, and I don't think anyone is going to be able to focus today. So take a night off, and work on resting up and relaxing. Thank you guys for showing up today."

"Thanks, MJ," Cindy offers as she slides her books into her bag. "Michaela's coming over tonight, so it'll give me time to get ready for our Sugar Rush marathon."

"No problem," MJ returns as she packs her things up, sliding her messenger bag over her shoulder. Ned is typing away furiously on his computer, and she watches for a moment as her friend focuses intently on the screen. "Hey, Leeds, you good? Want to swing by your place and make some hot chocolate before we start Narnia?"

For a moment, MJ isn't even sure Ned is going to reply, and when he finally does, it is in a distracted manner. "Oh, um, I think I'm gonna have to take a rain-check-"

"Whoa," Flash crows from across the room. "You're gonna wanna watch this instead of your baking show, Moon. Spider-Man just showed up on the scene!"

MJ's blood runs cold as everyone crowds around the computer again, and this time she is among them to watch the news broadcast. Sure enough, MJ can make out the red suit as the hero leaps through a window of the burning building, and her heart is hammering. So this is why Parker booked it out of the classroom… Suddenly, she can't breathe. He is alone, in the middle of the flames, and she knows he won't stop until he's sure everyone is out.

What if he can't get out in time, and he isn't willing to fight as hard for himself? She knows his stupid, selfless personality, and the idea of him being trapped beneath burning beams is one that causes bile to sting the back of her throat.

Across the room, Ned scoops his bag and his laptop up and races out of the room. MJ is fairly sure that she is the only one who notices him tugging on a headset as he does so. Ned is safe since everyone is so enraptured by the news footage.

"Whoa," Abe says slowly as the red hero comes out of a hole in the wall on the bottom level. He has two small children in his arms and what appears to be a small, horrified cat wrapped around his shoulders, which he shoves into the hands of a bystander before darting back in. MJ can't look away.

What if he doesn't come out again?

"I'll see you all later," she hears her voice saying, jerking her back to the present. MJ clears her throat and grabs her things, immediately pulling out her phone and putting up her favorite news app to follow the coverage. MJ knows that, until she is sure Peter is okay, she won't be putting her phone back away.

* * *

Within the hour, all the people from inside the building have been rescued.

The entire way home, MJ is glued to her phone screen to the point that she almost walks into a mailbox, a streetlamp, and a small child. By the time she is curled up in her bed, though, Peter has successfully rescued everyone from inside the burning building and left. A little breath of relief leaves MJ when she sees him leave the building for the last time, giving a dorky little wave to the cheering people below before launching off into the night.

Still, even though she knows that he got out, she can't stop watching the footage over again. In some of the videos, Spider-Man appears to be cradling one of his arms, and MJ can't help but worry that Peter's managed to burn himself. She has her phone in one hand and is currently curled up in her mess of a room, struggling with whether or not to text. If she does text, what will she even say? She can't tip him off to the fact that she knows, otherwise… Well.

Then, MJ's mind travels back to her conversation with Ned earlier that day, and her promise to talk to Peter.

Maybe she can stop waiting and wondering and actually show up, just to see that he's okay. It's killing two birds with one stone, really- telling Peter that he needs to stop pushing Ned away and checking up on him to make sure that he really is alright. It is for this reason that MJ pulls out her phone and pulls up Peter Parker's text messages, taking a deep breath before beginning to type.

 **I need to talk to you loser. It's not about decathlon, I'll bother you about that tomorrow. But I'm coming over, see you in a few minutes.**

With that, MJ flips her phone shut, and a little breath leaves her as she hops out of bed. It takes all of two seconds to tug on her jacket, and then it's time to creep out of the room and down the stairs. Her mother is normally napping this time of day, and sure enough, MJ can see her in the corner of the darkened living room. MJ has gotten used to creeping around during the day, so it is not difficult to slip out the front door.

The walk to Peter's house takes about half an hour if MJ factors in the subway ride. It's not particularly long, but to MJ, every minute feels like an hour. She needs to see him with her own eyes so that she can believe that he is okay. She doesn't have the luxury that Peter or Ned does with the secret; there isn't anyone for her to share it with. Perhaps it isn't a secret that was intended for her, but she keeps it anyway, and that means that its full weight rests on her shoulders at all times- even when that means that she has to pretend like she isn't worried sick about her friend roasting alive in a building.

When Peter's apartment building comes into view, a little breath leaves MJ. Walking into the dingy hallway of the building, knowing that it's still standing… It's enough, somehow, to make it better. MJ jogs up the several flights of stairs that lead her to Peter's hallway, and then a sharp right takes her to the door that has become familiar to her over the past few weeks. It is only after her three sharp knocks have pierced the hallway's silence that is starts happening.

MJ can feel her arm tingling with warmth, the warmth that means that her soulmate is writing to her.

A little twinge of irritation fills MJ as she pulls up her sleeve, glancing down at the skin. She watches as dark blue ink begins to form letters on her forearm, cursing her poor timing. Could this not have happened on the subway ride over, or maybe when MJ really needed a distraction while she was waiting for news about Peter? But no… With her luck, of course her soulmate is contacting her now. Before she can read what her soulmate is saying, she hears the sound of someone's footsteps through the thin walls. MJ quickly drops her sleeve and shifts from foot to foot as she hears someone approaching on the other side of the door.

When May pulls the door open to find MJ, her furrowed brow relaxes. "MJ," she greets, pulling aside the door so that the younger girl can step inside. MJ offers May a little smile, running a hand through her curls as she tries to ignore the persistent tingling on her arm. "Peter said you would be showing up. How are you?"

"I'm okay, thanks," MJ murmurs, struggling to fight the flood of relief that washes over her. At the very least, Peter is well enough that May doesn't suspect anything.

"Peter's in his room," May informs Mj as she gestures to the hallway. "Door open, please! And you're welcome to stay for dinner if you like. It's meatloaf tonight!"

"Thanks, May," MJ offers with a little grin. The smile fades somewhat as the warmth on her skin, which had stopped, resumes. Can't her soulmate take a hint? "I'll have to text my mom to see. I really do appreciate you letting me come in at such short notice, though."

"Any time, MJ," May replies seriously, peering at her through her glasses. For a moment, MJ swears she spots concern in the woman's eyes, and she can't help but feel the slightest bit flattered that May Parker actually cares. "Our door is always open, okay?"

"Okay," MJ agrees, nodding. She can feel the warmth starting again, and for a moment MJ has the stupidest urge to tell May about it. MJ knows that May lost her husband only a few years ago, but she has not missed the pictures on the wall- some of which include two hands linked together, with matching writing on the wrists. May lost her soulmate in the worst possible way… Would she still say that it's worth it?

No, MJ tells herself. Not today, not to a woman who already has a much more difficult life than she deserves.

"I'm just going to go find Peter," MJ informs May as she turns towards the room. "Thanks again." May nods as MJ turns, walking down the hall. The tingling in her arm continues, and MJ shoves it forcefully from her mind as she comes upon Peter Parker's cracked bedroom door.

MJ takes a deep breath and slides the bedroom door the rest of the way open. "Parker-" she begins as she steps into the room.

Immediately, Peter's head jerks up to her from where he is seated at his desk. MJ's voice fails her suddenly as his brown eyes collide with hers, freezing her in the doorway. It is not his startled gaze that does this, nor is it his messy curls and parted lips as he looks up to her.

Rather, it is the blue ballpoint pen that is pressed to his arm, writing in the exact place that MJ's own forearm is tingling with warmth.


	6. So Your Soulmate Dropped Off the Radar

Peter quickly shoves the pen away into the drawer of his desk as he pulls his sleeve down. MJ is standing in the doorway, staring at him with a gaze that is as unreadable as it always is. She doesn't say anything, just stands there for a moment. Peter swallows, unnerved by her dark gaze. Yeah, normally she is hard to read... But she also normally would say something.

"Sorry," he says quickly, standing and running a hand through his messy hair. Suddenly, Peter is all too conscious of the fact that his hoodie is old and has a stain right on the front, and this is the second day in a row that he has used these sweats as pajamas. "I was just writing a to-do list for myself. Um, for school, and all that. You know. With all of the... Studying, for the thing on Friday, in Harrington's-"

"The documentary we're watching?" MJ has called him on his bluff, and Peter winces.

"Um, yeah. That. I want to be familiar with it, just so I don't actually have to pay attention."

"Right." MJ takes a deep breath, crossing her arms protectively across her chest. Peter winces as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Normally, MJ would make some comment about something, anything. Especially when she knows he's lying, so... What's going on? "So what's up?"

MJ starts, like she's only just remembered why she came. Her eyes quickly scan over him, and Peter finds himself feeling even more self-conscious than before. He tried to wash the scent of smoke from his skin when he arrived back from tending to the fire, but part of him feels like it will never go away... What if she smells it? What if she sees the bruises peeking out of the neck of his hoodie, from when a struggling woman flailed and punched and kicked before she realized she was being saved? MJ somehow always manages to see through him.

"I wanted to talk to you about Ned," she finally replies, but she takes a step away from him. Her legs are already positioned in the direction of his door. Why does she suddenly seem so determined to get away from him? "

You need to talk to him, Parker, about that." She gestures to his arm, and Peter winces. "Because you're shutting him out, and he's not dumb. He knows that something's up. So either make up a convincing lie, or let your best friend be there for you. I know which one I would choose." Her voice is distant, but the words ring true. Peter is surprised by the surge of affection that washes over him, the fondness for the girl that is turning to leave. Because as much as she says she doesn't, she cares.

"MJ," he finds himself calling, not sure why he is doing so.

MJ doesn't turn around, but she does pause slightly in the doorway. "I'm not going to tell anyone, Parker."

"That's not-" Peter starts, but he pauses, flustered. "I wasn't worried about that. Can you, um, turn around?"

MJ slowly revolves in the doorway, facing him. Peter finds his heart skipping slightly at the sight of her unruly curls, the piercing gaze that is focused on his LEGO model of the Millenium Falcon rather than his face. "What?"

"Thanks. For telling me." It's rather underwhelming now that it's left Peter's lips, and he feels heat rising to his cheeks.

For a moment, MJ's gaze moves to his face. Her brow is slightly furrowed as her eyes meet his, and she looks at him for a moment as if she is drinking in his appearance. "You're welcome," she answers, pausing a moment before she turns and leaves his room. Peter is left alone, with a half-finished greeting written on his arm in blue ink and his empty bedroom the only witness to Michelle Jones's presence. Peter does not move for a minute, and when he finally does turn back to his desk, he does not understand why there is a bittersweet feeling in his chest.

Why did their short conversation feel so much like goodbye?

* * *

The next day, Peter realizes that it was, in fact, a parting of ways.

At first, he thinks he's just overreacting when MJ doesn't show up in the seat beside Peter and Ned first hour. She's probably just a little late, or maybe she overslept her alarm. That happens to everyone, after all.

"MJ's never late," comments Ned from beside him, glancing at the door anxiously, then the clock. "Do you think we did something?"

"No," Peter says quickly, pulling out his phone and checking for texts. "I talked to her just last night, I don't see why she would be."

"Maybe because you flaked on decathlon?" Ned suggests, and Peter's mind returns to the night before.

She knows, now, that he has a soulmate... But why would that change, anyway? Tons of people have soulmates. She probably does, so why would that change anything about their friendship? The idea of MJ with a soulmate is a strange one, one that does not rest well with Peter... And it should be fine, Peter reminds himself. She's pretty, and she's smart, and she's funny. And she can totally have a soulmate. So why would her knowing about his soulmate cause a problem?

"Nah. I saw her after," Peter replies, sighing slightly. It's three minutes to the bell now. "She didn't seem upset about that at all."

"You saw her after?" Ned presses. There is surprise in his eyes, and then caution. "Why? What did you guys talk about?"

"Um..." Peter winces, running a hand through his hair. "It was just about some stuff she left at my house after the last sleepover." He doesn't know why he's lying, and he really does want to tell Ned. But at the same time, what if that upsets his soulmate?

Ned clearly doesn't believe him, but before he can say anything, the final bell rings. At the last possible second, she enters the room. MJ slips through the door and quickly takes a seat at the back of the room, ducking her head down. Both Peter and Ned are staring at her as she pulls her books out of her backpack, then fixes her gaze on the front of the room.

Peter reels back, almost as if he has been physically slapped in the face. MJ's eyes travel to him then, and for a second he swears he can see guilt on her face. But she turns to look back front so quickly, Peter wonders if it was his imagination.

As the day goes on, this continues. MJ is always the first one out of the classroom, and before Peter can talk to her she is gone. She doesn't show up at lunch, and her spot is left empty. After school, there is no messy ponytail visible in the crowded hallways by her locker, and she doesn't walk home with them. Ned seems to visibly deflate as the day crawls on, and it is for that reason that Peter resorts to text.

 **hey, so did you oversleep or something? cuz we missed you**

 **where are you? dude, you gotta eat. is something wrong?**

 **bored without your sketches in gym. please text back when you can, we're worried**

 **is this because of decathlon? i'm so sorry, i promise it won't happen again, it was just internship stuff**

 **ned is really worried, mj. like 'didn't even make fun of the captain america videos' worried. text back when you get this.**

The texts keep getting left on read, and with each one Peter gets a little more agitated and a little more worried. By the time the day is over, Ned is so listless that Peter decides they are going to have an impromptu sleepover. That seems to help a little bit, but Ned doesn't even try to talk along with his favorite quotes. He's asleep by ten, and then Peter is left alone in the living room with nothing but a half-finished episode of Merlin and his own thoughts.

This has to be because of yesterday, and Peter knows it. Something that happened the day before is the reason that they can't get ahold of their best friend. MJ has never reacted this way because of decathlon before. Yeah, she gets mad about it, but she lets him have it when she's actually upset with him. This cold-shouldering is different than anything that Peter has experienced with her before.

Peter decides that facing the heat of another fire would be preferable to the icy treatment he's receiving from Michelle Jones.

It has to be his soulmate, and Peter knows that deep down. It was only after she saw him writing on his skin that she froze over, and not before. He can't pretend that he knows the reasons for it, but it's the only thing that seems to make even a little bit of sense.

And why does the way she was refusing to look at him create an ache in his chest?

In an attempt to ignore that thought, Peter reaches into his pocket, where he has taken to carrying around a writing utensil, just in case. He rolls the red pen back and forth between his fingers, then looks back down at the half-finished message that is now faded. After the discussion with MJ, he couldn't bring himself to finish it the night before, and his soulmate didn't press him about it. Now, though, he needs someone, anyone.

 _Are you there?_

The ink fades into his skin, and Peter desperately waits for a reply to come. For the first few minutes, Peter thinks that his soulmate is busy doing something else. But then, Peter feels tingling, and he looks back down at his skin.

There is a single dot of dark ink, the sort that comes from pressing a pen down but not writing anything.

Peter desperately waits for it to blossom into more writing, but the words don't come. Instead, he is left staring at his skin and hoping, praying. After a moment, the dot disappears, and his heart sinks. His soulmate washed away the ink. They aren't planning to say anything at all.

 _Please._

He doesn't know what prompts him to continue writing, but Peter can't fight the suffocating loneliness that is coming for him now.

 _I lost one of my best friends today, and I don't know why. I need someone to be there._

The words are desperate, but he can't help it. He just needs to be assured that someone is there, that they care and that he isn't alone. Maybe it's not the best impression to make on his soulmate. But if his soulmate cared about impressions, they probably wouldn't have implied that they were employed as a serial murderer, so maybe he isn't overreaching.

And then, the tingling begins, and Peter thinks that maybe he has done one thing right today.

 _I can't be there for you._

Each syllable is like another blow, and Peter can't help but take in a sharp breath so quickly that it hurts.

 _All I am is someone on the other side of a pen. I don't believe in this crap, and I never have. I've seen it fail before, and it'll fail for us, too. So I'd rather not get attached._

Peter doesn't know why his eyes are stinging as he stares at his arm. It's their right, to reject whatever this is. But he can't help the hurt that is aching in his chest now as he stares at the ink, the written rejection of everything that could have been their future.

Peter doesn't know how long he sits there, looking at the ink on his arm. It might be a moment, or it might be half an hour that the teenager grapples with the hurt and frustration boiling over in his chest.

How has this happened? How has he managed to lose both one of his best friends and his soulmate in the space of less than twenty-four hours?

He doesn't know when it shows up, exactly, but his soulmate has one more message for him. It shows up in spidery script, etched into his skin with a heavy hand.

 _I'm sorry._

* * *

The next few days are hell.

Ned, at least, gets a little bit better. Still, Peter catches him texting almost all day, sneaking his phone out in class in ways that he never has before. Ned only texts Peter and one other person, and Peter's phone isn't the one blowing up. Rather, when he glances to the back of the classroom and finds MJ texting almost as much as Ned, Peter's suspicion is confirmed.

Ned and MJ are texting, so they're clearly on speaking terms. And Peter can't get more than a read receipt out of the other third of their trio.

He knows that he should feel good, at least, that Ned and MJ are okay. Ned is in a better move, and he doesn't look nearly as dejected as he did the day before, so that's something. But still, Peter can't repress the frustration and dejection that comes from being on their outside looking in.

Was this what it was like for MJ, before she found her place among them? Because Peter can't imagine how she put up with it for so long.

Peter tries to throw himself into whatever he can. He first turns to school, but then is met with the frustrating realization that they're just in a stagnant period at the moment. There aren't any upcoming assignments for any of his classes that Peter hasn't completed, and he's watching two different documentaries, doing three labs, and working on socratic seminars for all of his leftover classes.

So, instead, Peter focuses on his alter-ego. Right now, anyone seems preferable to Peter Parker.

May is under the impression that her nephew is out working at the internship, when really, Peter spends his nights perched atop buildings and watching from above. It turns into what is probably the most productive week-long stretch in his career: Peter stops more muggings than he can count on his hands, leaves robbers webbed up all over the place, and does the best he can by a great number of civilians. His work hasn't gone unnoticed, either; the internet comments on Spider-Man, and the way that he's becoming an established obstacle for any of Queen's criminals. He reads every article, and he knows that it should be enough for him.

But all he is left with is a score of scratches, cuts, and bruises, and a bunch of anonymous internet comments that do nothing to ease his loneliness.

It is on Friday when Peter realizes he can't keep this up.

Even with his enhanced strength and healing, every muscle in his body feels like it is screaming for relief. He had spent the night fighting crime and finished it out with a bus crash, which is probably why. He had managed to keep the semi and the bus from colliding, but he had also needed to put himself in front of the vehicle to stop it. Yes, his strength made him capable of stopping it and surviving it, and he had saved a lot of people.

But as Peter slides out of the suit and looks at his cut and bruised hands, he knows that he can't take any more of this, even if his body can. His arms are sliced by the glass, and though the cuts are already healing, the skin underneath them is so bruised that it looks to be the same color as the blue on his suit.

Peter can hear May's show playing out in the hall, and his enhanced hearing also detects her soft snores. He is alone, and it is two in the morning. But Peter is sick of being by himself.

Peter doesn't know what prompts him to do it. His soulmate doesn't want to hear from him, and he's fully aware of that. But his arms ache and are damaged, and all that he wants is to feel the warmth tingling across the skin for once, making everything feel better. So, Peter grasps a black pen in his fingers and uncaps it, pressing it to his skin with trembling hands.

 _I know you don't want to talk to me, and I'm not asking you to. But you're an artist._

The ink sinks into his skin, and for a moment, Peter struggles with the words. He doesn't want to force anything onto his soulmate, and he doesn't want to pressure them.

 _You don't have to do anything for me, and in a minute I'll wash this off. You don't even have to reply. But if you can, I'd appreciate it if maybe you could draw for me. Just on our arms. It doesn't have to mean anything._

Peter sets the pen down on his desk as he changes into pajamas, and then he flops onto his bed and stares at the ceiling. He is an idiot, and he knows it. His soulmate doesn't owe him anything at all. But just for one night, he would've appreciated feeling a little less alone.

After five minutes, Peter manages to pull his aching body from the bed and stumble to the bathroom without making too much noise. It is there that he begins to wash away the ink from his wrists, and Peter watches as it spirals down the drain before he shuts off the tap.

It is then that it begins.

The tingling starts in his wrist, and as Peter watches, a thin band of black wraps around his wrist in a perfect circle. He cannot help but catch his breath as an invisible hand traces over the line once, twice, causing it to appear perfectly rotund and bold against his pale skin. The warmth covers up his bruises, sending a tingling all down his wrist that makes him forget about the ache.

Quickly, Peter shuts off the lights and rushes to his bed, where he settles down in the top bunk and watches as ink blossoms across his forearms. His soulmate draws in dark, bold lines that circle around his arm symmetrically. When they are finished with one portion on his right hand, they immediately move to his left, and vice versa. The system of designs appears almost alien to him, a strange mix of ordered and abstract. The lines cross and weave together like vines, and the incredible detail of them astounds him. Where they criss and cross, they always emerge in the same thickness and shape they enter. They are beautiful, in an almost otherworldly sort of way.

And they have come from a world of his soulmate's own invention, from a mind that has to be brilliant in order to create something like this. Peter can't even imagine what a mind so deep looks like, but he can try.

And that is the way that Peter Parker falls asleep, trying to imagine the sort of brain that could create such a beautiful thing. As warmth tingles up and down his arms, Peter forgets about bruising and pain as he drifts off in the top bunk of a bedroom in Queens- a bedroom that is now a little bit less lonely.


	7. So Your Soulmate's an Internet Sensation

Even though every hour seems an eternity now, the days do continue to move on despite everything that's happened.

MJ knows that, from the outside looking in, she's a bit insane. Anyone else would be thrilled, she is sure, to find out that their soulmate and crush are one and the same. But for her, the realization is sickening and twists her stomach in knots.

How is she supposed to know what's real anymore?

Now, as MJ walks through her days, she feels like she's some sort of puppet being twisted around in circles by the universe. Did she ever really have a crush on Peter, she can't help but wonder? If it weren't for them being soulmates, would she have ever fallen this hard? She needs the answer to be yes, needs to believe that loving someone in a choice. If it isn't MJ doesn't think that it means anything at all, and that's worse than any possible outcome.

She doesn't even want to think about the part of that reasoning that has caused her to admit that she loves Peter Parker.

MJ needs to think about something, anything other than her soulmate and love and fate. She throws herself into school, doing a bunch of outside research on her classes that no one needs to know, enrolling for a few obscure online classes, and even trying her hand at cooking a few new types of food for her mother that might be easier to keep down. MJ stays up late into the night, refusing to go to bed and take a break before her body has been driven to its absolute breaking point. If she has even a moment in bed, a moment to think, she knows where her brain will go.

Ned helps, more than she cares to admit. The first day after her discovery, Ned texted her almost twice the amount that Peter did, worried.

 **dude, did i cause some problem between you and peter?**

 **mj what's going on?**

 **i didn't mean to force you into anything, i need to know you're okay**

 **this isn't about me, i'm worried for you**

She had not been able to keep from responding to Ned for even a day. It hadn't been much, but it was something.

 **The thing between me and Peter doesn't have anything to do with you. I just can't be with you both right now. But you and I are good, and I had the conversation for you. It went well. You're my best friend, and we're fine.**

Ned had responded almost immediately in APUSH.

 **wanna talk about it?**

Her answer was quick and to the point.

 **No.**

Ned was remarkably understanding, and MJ appreciated it. He didn't press her, just asked her about simple things, things she could answer. How her day was going, what she thought about something in class, how she should handle simple life issues: all of it was helpful, because MJ knew what to do.

By now, Ned has become a lifeline of sorts for MJ. She texts him almost all day, between homework and the rides to and from school and cooking. Sometimes it's coherent conversation, sometimes it's just a string of memes and vines- either way, it's helpful. It helps MJ to slow down just enough to keep from crashing, and it reminds her that there are other things to live for.

Still, she's exhausted, and she's not sure how long she can keep going, even with Ned.

MJ's body is worn out and begging for relief every night when she collapses into bed, then a few hours later when she drags herself out. Her mind is exhausted from the unnecessary amount of extra studying and drilling she's been doing for decathlon, and her body is tired due to the fact that she barely sits down anymore to rest. To top it off, she's uncomfortably hot almost all of the time, due to the fact that she's had to wear long sleeves.

It's not so bad, sometimes, due to the fact that it's still winter. Her long shirts with various messages and graphics don't stand out under her jacket on the subway or when she's on the street. But when she enters well-heated Midtown Tech every morning, MJ finds herself wishing she could wear a short-sleeved shirt beneath a light jacket.

But she can't risk it, because what if someone sees?

She drew the designs in a moment of weakness, on a night where she had heard about Spiderman and his daring bus rescue. She had been unable to keep herself from watching the video, watching him brace the vehicle with his forearms again and again and again. And when he had written to her on their arms, she could not imagine the pain that the pen on his skin had caused her.

She had the power to alleviate that pain, and so she had used it.

The designs are thick and bold, and MJ finds herself refreshing them in permanent marker over the next few days, as well as using baby powder to make it stay as long as possible. She cannot help but give him something, anything, just one little thing to hold onto- because every time she looks at him, she can't help but notice the bags under his eyes and the dejected posture he keeps when he thinks no one is looking.

She hates that she's doing this to him, but MJ doesn't know what else to do. What would he do, if he found out they were soulmates?

She can't help imagining his face, an attempt to hide disappointment that she would be able to see through in an instant. She can always read Peter Parker, and she knows that she isn't what he is looking for. She isn't Liz Toomes- she doesn't have perfect hair and a beautiful house and a happy family (although, granted, her father also isn't Big Bird's brass cousin). She is a mess, and Peter deserves more than that, no matter what the universe says.

Still, she can't help but be exhausted, and no matter how well she thinks she's hiding it, there's always one person who sees through her.

"Jones, stay after class, please."

Flash shoots her a satisfied smirk as he rises from his place in front of her on the bleachers, filing away with the rest of the students when the bell rings. Ned, from across the grin, shoots her an anxious look, but MJ shrugs as she snaps her book shut and tugs her hoodie slightly closer to the shirt of her gym uniform. This is the one shirt that she doesn't get overheated in, but changing is also a bit of an added difficult when her arms look like they were branded by aliens.

Coach Wilson gets up from his desk and walks closer to the bleachers, finally popping down on the front row of the bleachers a few rows ahead of her.

MJ lets out a sigh as she runs her finger along the cover of _The Bell Jar_ , saying, "I can get a little sneakier with the books, if you need me to-"

"Look, kiddo," the coach says, raising an eyebrow. "I honestly don't care what you kids do through the video series. The government's sex-ed is crap either way. I want to talk to you about something else."

MJ purses her lips, raising an eyebrow. "Then can I go, sir?" she presses, clamming up. She thinks she knows what's coming, and she doesn't want to talk about it.

Before MJ can stand up, however, Coach Wilson is speaking. "I think that one of two things is going on with you, Jones," he states. His face is serious, more serious that MJ has ever seen it. "I think that you've started wearing all long sleeves, and that you've retired from your little Three Musketeers act-"

"I don't need to be a musketeer to have value," she interjects, but he holds up a hand.

"Maybe not, but you seem a lot happier when you're running around with those two than when you're sitting by yourself reading suicidal poetry," Wilson declares.

For a moment, MJ stares at him, trying to formulate some sort of argument. All she can come up with is a grumbled statement of, "There were actually four musketeers in the book."

Wilson ignores her remark and continues. "You're constantly trying to distract yourself, which is strange coming from someone who genuinely loves to think," Wilson continues. "You don't space out, you don't make smart-ass comments, and I've actually started missing you putting Thompson in his place for me. So, how am I supposed to explain it?" MJ looks away, but she can feel her cheeks heating up. "Because I only see two possible explanations. One, you've actually started hurting yourself and need someone to intervene-" MJ attempts to speak out in protest, but he holds up a hand- "-or two, you've found your soulmate."

MJ glares at Wilson for a moment, who meets her gaze coolly. But then, MJ feels all of her energy leave her body in one exhale, and a little groan escapes her as she props her hand on her knees and rests her head in her hands.

"So, I'm assuming it's the latter, then," Wilson comments as he reaches in his pocket to produce one of the caramel candies that MJ sees him sneaking all day. She looks up just long enough to take the candy and unwraps it, popping it in her mouth.

"What do you know about it?" she finds herself muttering. Normally, MJ isn't this caustic with him, but she's exhausted and he's making her talk about the one thing she wants to ignore. "You're just a jaded old man."

"I'm thirty-four."

"And you won't reach forty if you keep eating as many of these caramels as you do."

Wilson cracks a grin, and despite herself, so does MJ. She studies her sneakers instead of looking at him, trying to get rid of the little smile. At first, she can't but then she thinks about what he's trying to get her to talk about it. "I don't want one."

Wilson's voice is not judgmental as he asks a clarifying question. "A soulmate?"

"Yeah."

There is a pause, and she can hear Wilson appear to mull it over. "Well… Why not?" he asks. "Mine is all that gets me through the day dealing with your classmates half the time."

MJ looks up at him, and she wrestles with how to explain it. Finally, she makes an attempt, sorting through the various words that are cluttering her mind. "I don't like… Being told what to do."

"No shit."

MJ lets out a soft puff of amusement through her nose, and he grins. Still, Wilson waits for her to continue, and so she does. "I don't like the idea that the universe chooses something like that for me. I don't want it to tell me who I'm supposed to love."

Wilson seems to consider it, and he nods. "You're an independent person, Jones. I get it."

MJ's eyes widen slightly, and she realizes that that's the first time anyone has ever understood her opinions on it. "Really?" she presses, and Wilson nods again.

"But you have a choice, no matter what," Wilson presses. MJ narrows her eyes, but she does not speak and leaves room for Wilson to continue. "No matter what you choose, to accept it or deny it, it's still your choice."

MJ blinks, and it takes a moment for her to formulate her response. "But it isn't is it?" she counters. "How is it my choice if the universe picks it out for me?"

Wilson grins, and MJ decides she would like to smack that smile off. It implies that he knows something she doesn't- and he probably does, which just makes it worse.

"Isn't that how all of life works?" Wilson questions her, and for once, MJ doesn't have any idea what to say back. "You're always going to have things thrown at you that you don't choose. We both know that you wouldn't be taking gym if you had a choice, but you don't- so you make the most of it by making my day a little more sarcastic, which I appreciate. We both know you could be halfway through college if you didn't have to go through high school, but you do… So, you're acing all your classes and giving Thompson no chance at valedictorian."

MJ sees where he is going, and she doesn't like it, because it is starting to make a little bit more sense than she would have preferred.

"So," Wilson continues, raising an eyebrow, "how is this any different? Whether you choose to completely shove it away or to embrace it, what you do about your soulmate is your choice."

"But how is it my choice if I accept it?" MJ presses. "That's what everyone wants me to do, that's what the world expects."

"They expect you to get through high school with good grades, and you do that," Wilson points out. "Why?"

"B-because," MJ stammers. Her eyes are narrowed, and she doesn't like the unsteadiness she feels in this conversation. "That'll get me where I want to be."

"Well, then, Jones," Wilson replies, standing from the bleachers and dusting off his sweats. "I guess the question that it really comes down to is 'what do you want?'"

MJ is silent for a moment as he begins to walk away, pausing a few feet away. "But I can tell you that for me, finding my soulmate made it a hell of a lot easier to get out of my own head and spend some time in someone else's. And I think that sometimes, Jones, getting out of our own heads can do us some good."

* * *

Maybe Coach Wilson meant well, but all that their discussion accomplishes is ingraining a strange sense of dread in MJ as she walks through her day. If he's figured it out so easily, who's next? Her mom, May, Ned?

Peter?

As she makes her way into Pre-Calculus, MJ curses herself for pursuing that line of thought. Yes, the past few days might have been some of the most exhausting she's had to deal with in her life, but at least they were establishing what she needed them to. She hadn't been thinking about her soulmate, and she hadn't been thinking about her broken friendship with Peter Parker, and that was enough.

Now, one conversation had destroyed all of her hard work.

MJ settled into the back of the classroom, making herself comfortable in her seat. She can't help it as the passing period runs out: she's looking for Peter, now, waiting to see when he will come in. That's half of the problem she has when it comes to their bond… How would she tell him, how would she explain the glances and the staring that she struggles so hard to contain?

But today, she doesn't have to worry about that, because Peter doesn't come. When the bell rings, Parker isn't in his seat, and Ned is up front making a hasty excuse to the teacher that goes far too much into detail, until half of the class has heard Ned claim that Peter is vomiting in the bathroom.

He's going to have a fun time dealing with that when he gets back.

Not a few moments, later, MJ's phone is buzzing in her pocket. At first, MJ is concerned, and she thinks that maybe Ned is texting her for help. But when MJ opens her phone she realizes it's a news alert, and that several other people in the classroom are doing the same thing.

After a moment, their dinosaur of a math teacher leaves the room to make copies at the machine on the other side of the school. As soon as he's gone, the class erupts in a quiet tizzy as everyone begins to exchange information.

"Dude, he's like literally a block away!" Flash exclaims from up front, where he's watching on his phone that is the size of a tablet.

"I wonder if we could see it out the window!" Betty Brant whispers from up front, moving to peer out the side window with narrowed eyes.

Ned glances back over his shoulder, and his eyes find MJ's. Most of the people in the class have wide eyes, eyes brimming with excitement. But Ned's eyes are filled with worry.

MJ bites her lip and rises from her desk, moving up front by Ned. For a moment, she's not quite sure what to say, and then she rests a hand on Ned's back. She finally murmurs, "He's gonna be okay, dweeb. Now breathe, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Ned starts, and he glances over his shoulder. "Um, you mean Peter? In the bathroom?" he fumbles, blinking rapidly. "Because I don't know about it, he was throwing up, like, all over the place when I was in there-"

"You're an idiot if you think I haven't figured it out," was MJ's only response. "And he's gonna be fine." Ned nods, letting out a breath and offering MJ an appreciative, if strained, smile.

Of course, Flash chose that moment to say, "Look, guys, someone's live-streaming Spider-Man getting the crap beat out of him!"

Everyone crowds around his phone then, and after exchanging a desperate glance, so do Ned and MJ. The phone has a slightly grainy video of a street corner jewelry store, one with a large white van pulled up outside. The van looks like the tires have been webbed to the ground, but that doesn't stop the incredible large man at the wheel from hopping out with a pistol raised. There are three other people, each with masks over their heads and pistols, and the red-suited vigilante is swinging across the street with his shooters at the ready.

MJ can't help it.

She knows she was comforting Ned, telling him that everything was going to be fine. But now, as she looks down at the screen and watches as Peter webs the smallest of the miscreants to the alley wall, MJ feels sort of like she's going to throw up.

Bullets are flying, moving in short, jerky spurts that remind MJ of waterbugs on the surface of a lake. They come dangerously close to Peter, every time, and MJ finds herself reaching for Ned's hand and gripping it, tightly. Her own hands are shaking, but when she holds Ned's, she can forget for a moment.

Every bullet that pierces through the air causes MJ's head to spin. They're all so close to Peter, so terribly close to ending him- the boy who MJ has watched so much that she practically has the back of his head burned into her brain. He's the dweeb whose stupid jokes have gotten her to crack a smile on her worst day, the idiot who MJ's had a crush on for years now.

And he's her soulmate, inches away from a bullet.

Another one of the robbers is webbed to a wall, and it looks like Spiderman takes a moment to make a comment to him before wrenching the gun from his hand. She can't keep a little grin from sliding onto the corner of her lips then, because… Well. That is really a lot like Peter.

And then, a bullet comes from behind him, aimed for his shoulder, and her heart leaps to her throat. MJ think she might even cry out, but she isn't sure.

Peter moves, but not quickly enough. She has no idea how he is quick enough to almost completely dodge a bullet, but he is. Still, he's not a god, and so the bullet does reach his skin and rip into the suit at his forearm. MJ claps a hand over her mouth to bite back a scream, her body frozen, and the classroom is silent.

And then, the hero continues to move.

The suit has been torn, MJ realizes, from about his wrist to his upper arm. Blood wells out, but only from a superficial scratch, and she doesn't think that the bullet hit anything vital. Still, the suit has been damaged, and MJ can see the skin in the massive gap…

Wait.

MJ's mouth runs dry as whispering fills the room. They're not whispering about the fight, because Spiderman has just immobilized the final robber by using his webs to bring a street sign slamming into the man. They're whispering about the breach in the suit, about the massive chunk of skin that can be seen within.

Skin that is crisscrossed with dark, bold lines, a pattern in dark ink that stands out starkly against his skin even through the dirt and dust that clings to the hero.

* * *

It's all that anyone wants to talk about all day, and then all the days following- the pattern on the Spiderman's skin, the one that surely will be mirrored on his soulmate, if he has one. The speculation on the internet has been insane, enough so that many pictures of it show up on the Instagram Discover page. And even at school, it's being talked about- wondering about what has happened now that Spiderman's soulmate knows who their partner is, lamenting over the fact that the same pattern isn't marked on their arms.

It all makes MJ feel sick.

Even Ned is talking about it, but that's different. He needs to talk about it, and MJ knows that she has to listen for him, no matter what happens. And with Ned, at least, it's not so much about the unknown soulmate.

He talks about it an awful lot, and MJ lets him, even when it causes her blood to run cold every time. Still, at least when he comes over, she tends to be expecting it. It's for this reason that she's a bit calmer as they lounge in Ned's room, building some set that MJ can't even remember the name of.

"It's not even the whole soulmate thing," Ned is saying, shaking his head. "Like, his soulmate could be Vulture for all I care- okay, maybe not Vulture, there's a serious age problem there. But you know what I mean."

"Yeah, something interspecies like that wouldn't work," MJ deadpans, using an orange tool to remove the block that she put in the wrong place by mistake. "You know what they say about a bird and a fish, so imagine the problems a bird and a spider would cause."

That does bring a little grin to Ned's face, and she can sense the appreciation in his eyes as he takes the piece absentmindedly, removing the brick that MJ has been struggling with in one fluid motion. "It's just…" He trails off, handing the piece back to her. "I just wish he felt comfortable telling me."

"Yeah," she murmured, placing the piece where it was supposed to go this time. She couldn't look at him when he got to this part of the conversation. She knew she was hiding things, too, but… It was different. Yeah, Ned was one of her best friends, but she couldn't tell him. She didn't want to make him pick sides.

"And now that I finally have something to tell him, I can't," Ned mumbles, so lowly that MJ almost misses it. It takes a moment to click, and when she looks up at her, her eyes are wide this time. An incredulous smile begins to part her lips. "Ned, you don't mean…"

Ned avoids her gaze sheepishly now, turning the page in the manual. He doesn't say anything, but his cheeks are turning red, and there is a smile of his own on his face. "It's not a big deal," he mumbles, but there is warmth in his tone, and MJ can tell he is trying to contain himself.

"Leeds!" MJ exclaims, abandoning the tool entirely as she leans over to slap his arm. "You found yours?"

Ned looks up, and now there is excitement in his eyes. "I mean, we haven't met or anything yet," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not since we found out. But, um, I got really lucky." There is a pink in his cheeks, but his grin is real now, and bigger by the moment.

MJ can't help but take a mental picture of the moment. His face is lit up with an expression of what is pure joy, and MJ is pretty sure that he hasn't voiced this to anyone else. It's the joy that comes from something new, from being able to accept this incredible thing that's happened to him.

Would Peter's face look like this, if MJ accepted their bond?

She shakes the thought away and focuses on the matter at hand. MJ shakes her head, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not gonna hug you, Leeds," she informs him. "I can't do anything that lets you know I have actual feelings. But this is me acknowledging that this is the kind of situation that calls for that thing." Still, despite her deadpan words, there's a grin on her face that is filled with warmth for him, for her friend.

Ned returns the smile, and he says, "Slow down, MJ, for a minute it looked like you had a heart."

MJ looks down at her chest with a feigned expression of shock. "Ah, shit, Leeds. I can't believe you've done this."

Ned grins at her use of a British accent to reference the Vine, and he rocks back on his knees as he looks at her. "Promise not to tell anyone?"

"Believe me, Leeds, as soon as I get home you know the first thing I'm gonna do is tweet it to my four hundred followers."

His face goes slightly green, and MJ smirks as he says, "Wait, wha-"

"I'm kidding."

Ned lets out a nervous left as he relaxes, shaking his head. "Oh, right." He takes a deep breath, then says, "Do you want to know who it is?"

MJ considers it, then nods. She knows that Ned has probably been bursting with the information, and he hasn't felt comfortable confiding in Peter about it, so he's probably more than ready.

Ned inhales, and then somewhere in his exhale, the syllables trip out in a tangled, breathy mess. "It'sBettyBrantfromschool."

MJ's eyes widen in genuine surprise, and then she's grinning too. "Dude, you hit the home run there," she congratulates him. "She's hot, and probably the sweetest person I've ever met. It's almost scary."

"And wicked smart, too," Ned informs MJ with a proud nod. "At first, when we started talking, I thought you might be my soulmate or something. She's a genius."

MJ's face goes pale as he talks about MJ being someone's soulmate. For a moment, his eyes seem to pierce her… Does he know? But MJ manages to keep a straight face as she says, "Sorry, Leeds. You're not my type. I'm not into cute guys with good senses of humor who can rock fedoras."

There is a moment of silence, and then both MJ and Ned burst into laughter, alone in the room that is covered in LEGO paraphenalia. After they've calmed down, Ned launches into an explanation of how he and Betty started talking, and MJ listens, truly happy for her best friend.

And somewhere deep in her chest, a part of Michelle Jones wonders if maybe, she and Peter could have the same sort of joy that seems to light up Ned Leeds from within.


	8. So Your Soulmate is a Real Badass

Peter knows he's screwed up, but then it doesn't take a genius to know that.

The internet is exploding, and all of the Spiderman forums and fan theory sites that Peter follows are focused on the same topic. At first, the speculations surround the ink on Peter's arm that showed through the suit-breach. Peter is only a little bit panicked at first- they can't know what it is, right? They have no idea if it's a tattoo or pen or marker, they won't be able to figure anything out.

Since then, Peter has learned one thing: never underestimate the power of undergrad college students on Tumblr. They are fueled by too much Red Bull, primal curiosity, and downright spite, and that combination is dangerous.

It's not a tattoo, one user who works at a tattoo parlor asserts, and then follows the comment with a long-winded explanation about why they've come to that conclusion. Peter can follow the logic, but by the time he's done, there's been so much discussion about various types of needles and how they show on the skin that his whole brain hurts. After that comment, an artists actually tests various pens and markers on their own skin for comparison, and the internet narrows it down to a specific type of marker. Peter follows every comment, reblog, like, and tweet, and he can't help himself.

They know, and they know it's most likely put there either by or for his soulmate.

There are a lot of thirsty internet commenters lamenting that the ink hasn't shown up on their arms, and the amount of memes inspired by the people who wish Spiderman was their soulmate is enough to make Peter blush. Eventually, he stops reading them. There's only one reaction he cares about, anyway.

And it's a reaction from someone who doesn't want to give it.

Peter misses it, more than he had ever imagined he could. Hearing his soulmate's shock when he admitted that he preferred hot chocolate over both coffee and tea had been the highlight of his week when it had happened, and talking to them about the stupid "would you rather" questions that he had scrawled on his arm during the day made his chest feel just as warm and tingly as his skin.

What will they say now? Assuming they haven't seen it would be more than ignorant, it would be downright stupid. He is trending on Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, and Reddit, and Ned has even sent him a link to a Facebook group of mothers who called themselves the "Spider-Moms." Unless his soulmate lives apart from all technology, they've seen it.

Meaning that they know who he is, and now they have been introduced to his secret identity before even meeting Peter Parker.

For the first day after the incident, Peter keeps silent. But three days later, the situation has grown too big to ignore, and he knows it. He isn't sure how to handle it, and some small part of him is terrified now… What if his soulmate is suddenly interested, suddenly wants to meet, has decided that he wasn't worth it as Peter, but they want to be soulmates with Spiderman?

So, when Peter writes them in the middle of Chem a few days later, he is careful with every word.

 _I know you didn't want to talk. But I need to talk to you, and I think we both know why._

He writes it on his arm, which is exposed as he rolls up his sleeve under the desk just slightly. There are many little spaces created by the crossing lines up his arms, but there is one moderately large gap left in the drawings, which have remained remarkably well-preserved over the past few days despite everything. Part of Peter had been terrified that they would be removed after the design was exposed during the fight. But it hasn't budged- in fact, his soulmate has kept preserving it, which means a few things. One, they either haven't seen Spiderman's designs, or they don't care, and two, they aren't ready to let go, either.

Peter ignores that last bit as he waited, but now he can't help being paranoid. Every little movement in the classroom makes him even more nervous. His super-senses make him even more sensitive to everything as he listens to the various sources of noise: Flash Thompson tapping away on his tablet under his desk, Cindy Moon crumpling a discarded note sheet as she writes, MJ capping and uncapping her pen from the back of the classroom.

Finally, after a moment, he feels it again: the sensation that he has missed so much over the past few weeks. It brings a sense of warmth to his chest, a fluttering of his heart that Peter can't quell.

 _You mean about your arachnoid fursona?_

Peter's eyes widen at the words, and he draws in his breath so quickly that he breaks into a coughing fit. It is only a minute later that his arm starts tingling again, but he can't look at it until after he has assured the professor that he is alright, that he will just go get a drink of water. But when he gets up to leave, he slips his pen up his sleeve as well.

It's in the safety of the bathroom that Peter sees the rest of his soulmate's message.

 _Kidding. But yes, I've seen it._

Peter lets out a breath, running a hand through the curls he couldn't be bothered to gel down this morning. They haven't volunteered anything else, and Peter knows that the ball is in his court. It's his decision, for goodness's sake, and it is his turn to speak.

Finally, Peter uncaps the pen and responds.

 _I know you don't know me, but I need you to keep this a secret. It can't get out, and if it does, you and a lot of other people will be in danger._

His heart is racing, and as Peter looks up into the mirror, he can see the worry on his face. He's pale, which May has been commenting on for the past couple days, as well as asking when Ned and MJ would be coming around. He's been dodging all of those questions, but as he looks into the mirror, he can see why May is so worried. There are bags under his eyes, and there is a sort of sheen to his eyes that makes them look hollow, and empty.

And somehow, when he looks down at the words, they bring him the kind of gentle warmth that he hasn't felt in ages.

 _Ah, shit, I'll have to go call back the Times and Buzzfeed, and I've got a few interviews I'll have to cancel with Ellen and the Tonight Show ._

He can't help the little grin that plays with his lips. His mouth is hesitant, like it's forgotten how to smile, but the witty reply of his soulmate is somehow comforting. They know, they understand, and it hasn't changed anything.

Even if they weren't exactly in the best place to begin with.

 _Thank you. You have no idea how important this is to me. It's all I've got._

Peter isn't sure why he adds the last sentence, but it feels true. He's distanced Ned, despite MJ's advice, and now MJ isn't even speaking to him. School isn't comforting anymore, and he doesn't want to put more on May's plate: so he has Spiderman.

After a moment, Peter's arm tingles again. He considers not looking, respecting his soulmate's desire for limited contact… But then they wouldn't be writing that if they didn't want him to see it, would they? So Peter takes a shaky breath and looks down at his arm.

 _That's not true._

Peter doesn't know why he suddenly can't breathe. But as the final words come up on his arm, he knows that even if he doesn't reply to them, the fact that they are there means something.

 _You have you, and you're selfless, and you care. If the people in your life can't see that, they're idiots._

His soulmate's words refuse to stop pestering him, and maybe that's why Peter does it.

Ever since he was little, Peter has had the same homework routine: come home from school plop his things down at the kitchen counter, and get to work. Whether it was with his parents in kindergarten, or Uncle Ben all through elementary school and middle school, or May from then on, the kitchen counter has been the place where Peter gets everything done. May is aware of this, and she is normally across the counter at this point in the day, working either on her own computer for work or on making some attempt at dinner.

Lately, Peter has been able to feel her watching him as he works, and when she asks him questions about his day, there is a tension as she awaits his answers. She's watching, and she knows, and she has been asking more and more after Ned and MJ.

Even if she doesn't know exactly what is going on, May is worried. And maybe that's why Peter tells her.

It happens that next day, after these words have been rattling in his head all day, Peter feels the tension beginning to brew and bubble over. He can't hold it all in anymore, and the more he catches May sneaking glances at him from over the lenses of her glasses, the more he wants to tell her about the tangle of emotions gathering in his chest. She has been struggling with the lid of the food processor for about ten minutes when they slip out of his mouth, and then suddenly the statement has fallen into the air between them and is not coming back.

"I found my soulmate, and they don't want me."

The top of the food processor clatters to the floor, and Peter feels his eyes widen as he quickly fixes his gaze on the countertop. It takes a moment before he is able to raise his eyes to May, slowly and surely, and to meet her gaze in the silence of the apartment's kitchen.

He's used to this look with May. It's an expression of pure shock- eyes wide behind thick glasses frames, lips parted and jaw dropped. May's hands are frozen in the position that they were in when she still held the lid, but her brown irises are completely focused on him.

May swallows, licking her lips as she lowers her hands to her sides. Peter can see her mind whirring as she slowly crosses the kitchen, coming to rest across the counter from him. There, she props her face up on her elbows and peers at him over the frames of her glasses, which she has allowed to slide down her nose.

"You found your soulmate," she repeats, trying and failing for a casual tone as a few locks of brown hair slide into her eyes. "Right. Of course. It had to happen sometime, right?" A nervous laugh leaves May's lips, but her face is more anxious than anything as she looks at him. Her eyes hold worry, as if she is afraid he is going to break.

"Oh, God, honey, I knew that you were spending more time by yourself in your room, but I just assumed, y'know, teenage boys and urges-"

"May."

Peter can scarcely choke that word out, and he knows his face is bright red with mortification. When her eyes find his face, they blink rapidly, and then she presses a palm to her forehead.

"Right. Right, not going to… Take that train of thought," she fumbles, shaking his head in several short, jerky motions. "It's just- You're growing up so fast, Peter, and sometimes I forget- well. That's not important now." May straightens up, standing to her full height, and runs a hand through her hair. Peter's aunt is clearly steeling herself, and Peter can practically see her taking up the role of his caretaker. "What do you mean, you lost them?"

Peter exhales, and it's his turn to ruffle a hand through his mess of brown hair. "Well," he says slowly, "they weren't really all that pumped about it to begin with-"

"What?" May interrupts, and this time the shock on her face is indignant as she draws herself up. "How could they not be? I mean, look at you! And you're a sweet boy, you're a catch no matter who they are-"

Warmth floods Peter's cheeks, and he swallows. "May, May," he bursts, shaking his head quickly. "They've never seen me, and even if they had, that's not…"

Peter isn't sure how he intends to finish the sentence, but May clearly picks up on his feelings. She offers him a sheepish grin, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Right," she drawls, shaking her head. "Sorry, kiddo. You can talk, and I'll listen. No interruptions."

As May plops her chin in her hands again, Peter finds himself believing her. So, carefully, he takes a deep breath. "I first talked to them a few weeks ago, and I think they might have been upset that I contacted them. But they told me that they didn't want a soulmate, and it wasn't about me." Peter can feel the words aching in his throat as they leave his mouth. It doesn't matter if it's not about him- it hurts anyway.

May frowns slightly, her head tipping to the side. "And did they tell you why they felt that way?" she asks slowly. Peter thinks that she might know the answer to the question based on her tone, and that only makes the whole ordeal more frustrating.

Still, she's May, and Peter knows he has to humor her. So he leans back slightly against the tall chair that he has drawn up to the counter, running through the mental inventory he has stored of the conversations.

"They said that they have some experience with the bond," Peter finally responds. "They said they've seen it, and they've seen it not work out. And I guess I get why- why that would be hard. But still, I just…" He can't keep talking, and his voice drifts off into a frustrated limbo as he rakes a hand through his hair again.

May seems to be mulling it over as she watches his motion, and she slowly straightens up again. This time, she moves to the cupboard and grabs two glasses, both of which she brings back and fills with lemonade from the pitcher between them. It is only when Peter has a full glass of the homemade drink that she speaks again.

"I get it," she finally says. "It doesn't seem fair, that one person can make such a definite decision for you like that, especially when that decision is denying you a lot of potential happiness."

"Exactly!" Peter bursts. A sudden wave of relief rushes over him, and he finds himself refreshed by the fact that someone understands. He finds himself feeling lighter as he reaches for the lemonade and downs a sip. This is exactly what he needed… And not just the drink.

Somehow, telling Ned hasn't felt right, even though Peter knows it's driving distance between them. And MJ… Well. He can't do that, even though he's not exactly sure why. Peter knows, deep down, that he can't tell her because of the strange thoughts he gets around her- thoughts about the sharp, citrus smell of her shampoo and about the way that her wicked smirks can make his face heat up. It just doesn't seem fair to his soulmate.

May breaks him from his thoughts, however, when she continues. "But I also think you need to understand how lucky you are, hon."

Peter looks up from the half-empty glass with a furrowed brow. Before he can say anything, however, May is continuing on. "Most people only have one real example of soulmates that they're really exposed to, right?" May continues, sipping her glass. "You've had two. You had your parents… And they really were a pair, Peter, even if you don't remember everything about them."

He can see her point forming now, and Peter begrudgingly realizes she's right. "I remember some things," he admits. "Just the way they used to dance with each other in our kitchen when I was little, and sometimes they'd let me join. But I more remember the times that I wasn't allowed to dance with them, after they put me to bed."

May's eyes soften, and a little grin slides onto her lips. "You must've had super-hearing," she laughs, shaking her head.

Peter's eyes widen, and his body freezes. "What?"

"To hear the music," May explains. Luckily, she seems too caught up in the moment to recognize his almost-lapse. "You always knew when they were playing it, and you'd come down in a onesie or something."

"O-oh," he stammers, blinking. "Right." There is a moment where he forces out an awkward laugh to join with May's quiet laughter, then he clears his throat. "But I remember my dad always saying that they loved me, but sometimes, they needed time to dance just the two of them. I didn't understand it then, but… I think I do now."

"He was making time for her," May murmurs. The smile on her lips is slightly sad now, but there is still a sweetness to it as she peers into his eyes with a warm intensity. "He always made time for your mom, and you got to grow up seeing that. And not only did you have the two of them, but you also had me and your Uncle Ben."

Hearing his name from her lips makes Peter wince, and he can tell that May doesn't miss it. It does cause her expression to dim slightly, but she reaches across the counter and takes his hand in hers. It's warm, and calloused, and it's reassuring enough to cause his gaze to rise to her own.

"You got to see what that kind of relationship looked like, even under pressure," she explains, and Peter can hear a slight waver in her voice now. "You got to see what that kind of bond looks like, through and through- in the good times, with your parents, and then with me and Ben. You got to watch what soulmates do when they suffer a loss together, when their lives change in a way they didn't expect."

"When Mom and Dad died," Peter murmurs, his eyes scanning hers. But there isn't any resentment in May's eyes- only a sad agreement. "When I got thrown into your life."

"You weren't ever a burden, honey," May responds, not denying it. But her hand tightens around his. "But yes. Neither of us ever anticipated a kid, sweetie. We didn't think it was in the cards for us, so when you came… We had no support network, and nothing to base it off of." She rubs her thumb along his index finger, and Peter slowly exhales, nodding. Still, he looks away, guilt washing over him.

"Hey," May says firmly. Her other hand comes to his chin, gently tipping his face so he's looking back at her. "Listen, Peter. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, because even after everything that's happened… I wouldn't have this any other way. But I am trying to make a point."

Peter believes her, in that moment. As he looks at May, the woman who isn't a blood relation and who doesn't have a single label that suits her, he knows he is loved. That is what causes him to grip her hand a little tighter. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she echoes, and a lopsided grin crosses her lips. "What I'm saying is you've seen both sides of having a soulmate. You've seen the sweet and the romantic, and you've seen the darker stuff. You've seen Ben and I have to learn how to be parents, and that's something that not a lot of kids get to see. And you've seen that even in the bad times, there's good. Because you know what?"

Peter offers her a small smile in return. "What?"

"Even when Ben and I were stressing out over moving into a bigger apartment, and when we were fighting over which therapist to send you to, and when we got into disagreements about how to handle choosing schools and moving jobs, Ben loved me so much. And I never doubted that for a second. Even in the bad times, we still had good things. And you've seen all of that, so you realize that the good outweighs the bad, always."

Peter holds her hand tight, and he knows it's his turn to talk. "But my soulmate didn't get to see all of that."

May's eyes are proud now, and as she releases his hand, Peter drinks in the pride that lines her face. "Exactly," she states. "I know that doesn't fix the problem by a long shot, honey. But you're the smartest person I know, and I figure if I can't solve the problem, an explanation might be the next best thing. So that's what I'll give ya, whenever you need it. And I'm always here when you need someone to remind you to hang in there, Peter."

As he finishes off the glass of lemonade, May lets out a slight sigh. It's only when he sets down the glass and stands that Peter replies, "Thanks, Aunt May. You're the best. And it did help… Just to tell you, you know?"

"I know." Still, as Peter speaks, he watches her face light up. That smile is enough to remind Peter that no matter what happens with his soulmate, he still has this. He still has May, and he has other people- people he needs to make reparations with. So, as he turns to head to return to his room and make a plan, he calls over his shoulder, "You're the coolest!"

"You better believe it, kiddo!" she returns as he heads down the hall, and when Peter shuts his bedroom door, there's a smile on his face.

As he lingers outside the girl's locker room, Peter can't help but feeling like this is an incredibly stupid idea.

Yeah, he rehearsed what he was going to say to MJ at least a million times the night before, and things went well when he met up with Ned and they talked things over. Sure, he didn't give too many details, and the conversation was hard… But it happened, and Peter feels a little better. It's going to take a while for things to get back to normal, and there's still a lot that Peter needs to tell Ned. But the point is that, now, they're going to have those conversations. They're going to move forward, and all Peter needs is that one chance.

But MJ is a dark horse, and Peter isn't sure if things will go as well with her- especially since he isn't quite sure why she stopped talking to him in the first place. But still, if he can just explain, he can say that he tried. And maybe, even if things go south, that will be enough for him.

Even though, deep down, Peter knows that a failed attempt would hurt more than he even wants to think about at the moment.

He is running over the words he prepared in his mind for the fifth time when the door opens again, and Peter whirls to face it. He is so ready that he begins to speak immediately, the words dropping from his lips. "Look, MJ, I-"

It is only after he has stopped speaking that Peter comes face-to-face with a highly-amused Cindy Moon. "Not quite, Peter, but I think she was right behind me, so you're in luck," the dark-haired girl says, offering him a grin. "See ya."

Before Peter can even say anything, Cindy is walking away. As she moves from her position between Peter and the locker room, Peter spots MJ immediately. The dark-haired girl is frozen in the doorway, and for a moment, Peter watches her debate walking away and going back inside. As soon as she realizes he can see her, however, MJ masterfully arranges her face into an impassive mask.

"Hanging around the girl's locker room," MJ comments dryly, beginning to walk away. "That's not creepy at all, Parker. I don't even know why you would suggest such a thing."

As she moves further away from him, however, Peter finds himself struggling to unfreeze. No… He can't let the girl with the dark ponytail and the old Midtown hoodie over her gym uniform walk away! So, before he can stop himself, the words burst from his lips.

"Wait! Wait, MJ, please… I need to talk to you." They sound a lot more desperate and vulnerable than Peter would like them to, and he bites his lip. His heart sinks as he realizes that if he were her, he wouldn't turn around.

For a moment, she freezes, and Peter steels himself for the sadness that will come when she begins to walk away. She has every right, he supposes, and he doesn't want to force her into anything… He'll be okay, even if it hurts. But then, MJ does the unthinkable.

She turns to face him, arms crossed over the zipped hoodie. There is wariness in her eyes, and she's in a defensive posture, but it's so much better than he anticipated. Peter is sure his face is lit up with hope in the dopiest possible expression.

"What?" she asks. Her tone is quiet, and it's unsure. Peter doesn't think he's ever heard her talk like that before.

"Um… Can we talk in private?" he asks. "It's a half day, I don't think Coach Wilson is paying attention anyway since we get out after this."

For a moment, MJ seems to consider it, and her thoughtful expression is so MJ that Peter can't repress a surge of warmth in his chest. Then, she slowly nods, and Peter exhales in relief. "We can go talk behind the bleachers," she suggests, gesturing to the gap between the bleachers and the wall. There's a bunch of old equipment stored back there, and Peter is fairly sure that they'll be able to have a private conversation there.

"Alright," he agrees, and before he can even think about saying anything else, MJ has turned on her heel and is walking with such speed that it makes Peter feel guilty. Is she really so desperate to put that much space between them? But Peter banishes the thought and follows her until they are both shielded from the view of the gym. Suddenly, they are both in the dim space, and MJ is leaning against one of the support beams of the bleachers. Peter is facing her as she stares expectantly, and though his mouth is open, no words are coming out.

Because, no matter how many times he rehearsed his plan, there is no preparing for Michelle Jones.

Peter opens and closes his mouth, and then he draws a deep breath in through his nose. MJ watches, oddly quiet. Normally, she would say something… Anything. Maybe make some sarcastic comment about how he's gaping like a fish, or tease him about their unusual venue But she doesn't do that, she just stares at him in the dim light with eyes that gleam in an almost feline way.

Is she nervous?

Before Peter can explore that avenue of thought, he decides to go for it. "I miss you," he blurts, and the words seem a lot bigger than he intended as they fill the space between them. Peter is grateful for the dim lighting, because at that moment he is pretty sure that his cheeks are on fire. "I don't know what I did, but I miss you. I miss hanging out and studying for decathlon, and I miss making fun of Flash together at practices. I miss pizza and screwing around in gym. I just… I miss us."

MJ stares back at him in the dark, and for a minute, Peter wonders if she's going to say anything. What if she just gets up and leaves?

But she doesn't do that. Instead, MJ blinks, and as she speaks, her voice is level and quiet. "I miss us, too." Peter lets out a sigh of relief, and he swears he can almost see the corner of her lips quirk upwards.

"I know I kind of put you in an awkward position," he replies, hesitant. "I mean, you didn't ask to know about… About this." Peter ends up making a vague gesture towards his arm, and it only makes his cheeks heat up. He can't look at her, not while talking about his soulmate. It's too confusing, because just for a moment, they blur in Peter's mind. They're the only two people who are so capable of catching him off guard, whose caustic remarks somehow make Peter fonder of them, who don't seem to give a damn what anyone thinks. It's too much for him to be thinking this way, because now Peter can't imagine his soulmate's hair smelling like anything but lemon, and the image of MJ's silly little sketches cropping up on his arms causes his heart to skip a beat.

Oh, he's screwed. Peter is caught in a complicated net that has him snared so deeply, he isn't quite sure how to extricate himself.

MJ speaks, however, saving Peter from the mind-boggling train of through he's just gone down. His eyes rise to meet hers as she replies, "No, it's not you. I'm not good at handling stuff like that, Parker, and I just-" She breaks off, and for a moment, Peter sees the same sort of confusion in her eyes. Her eyes also hold frustration, however, and she steps off the back wall and gestures with her hands as she speaks, almost as though she is trying to show him how she feels without words.

"I'm not good at stuff like this. I'm not good at friends, and soulmates, and I already felt like I was crossing a line with you and Leeds, so it just seemed easier-"

"-To walk away," Peter finishes. Her eyes snap to his, and for a moment there is a warm gratitude in them that makes his heart pound. Peter can't remember the moment that he chose to approach her, too, but now they are separated by less than a foot of space, and there is a sort of shared emotional understanding that Peter can't explain.

As he looks up into her brown eyes, Peter doesn't know what happens next. He feels like, for this moment, he and MJ are joined together by a million tiny threads of understanding, and he doesn't want to be the one to break them by making the next move. After a moment, though, MJ makes it for him.

"Yeah," she admits, swallowing. She ducks her head, looking away from him, and for a moment Peter thinks that he sees a flash of panic in her eyes as she takes a few steps to part the proximity between them. "But that wasn't fair to you or Leeds, either." There is genuine, quiet regret in her voice, and Peter winces.

"I don't think it was all you, MJ," he says quietly. For a moment, he searches for the words, and when he finds them, they send a wave of warmth through his chest. "We should've made sure that you knew, as soon as we were friends, that our lives would be a whole lot worse without you. No one should ever have to wonder that."

MJ's head snaps back to him, and for a moment there is an almost shocked expression on her face. However, she composes herself, and finally the brunette girl allows that familiar smirk onto her lips again.

"Did you really miss me that much, Parker?"

The comment is so MJ that it seems to shatter any residual tension, and Peter grins up at her. The relief that accompanies the resolution of conflict is so potent that Peter doesn't really mind when Coach Wilson orders them out from behind the bleachers with a pointed look at MJ, and the feeling powers Peter throughout his day.

Ned doesn't seem to know what happened, but Peter doesn't think he cares, either. All that he knows is that MJ and Peter are okay again, and that they're all sitting together in gym and studying as a group in the short decathlon practice that follows school. Everything is the way that it's supposed to be, and order is restored to the universe- this is enough to make Peter feel like he is floating, and he's pretty sure that Ned feels the same.

When they finally part ways at the end of the school day with a promise that they'll have a movie marathon tomorrow, Peter finds himself almost dreading putting on the suit. Sure, the half day is going to give him some extra time to patrol the streets. But now that things are better, Peter finds that he doesn't really need to be Spider-Man today- he's happy being Peter Parker, who is friends with Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones. And sure, they all have some stuff to work on- they're going to have to talk to Ned at some point, which will mean explaining the soulmate stuff to him, and MJ still seems to be holding herself back slightly. But it feels doable, and that's enough for him.

Still, Queens still needs its hero, so Peter quickly grabs the suit from where it's stashed beneath the lockers and gets on the streets a few minutes after the final bell. But, even though he's technically on-duty, that doesn't mean he can't make sure that Ned and MJ get home safe, right?

Peter shadows the two as they walk together for a short distance, and Karen springs to life in his ear as he follows his friends.

"Good afternoon, Peter! Did you enjoy your half-day at school?" her melodic voice questions him as he follows his two best friends from above, hiding in the shadows.

"Yeah, yeah! It was great, thanks for asking," Peter says under his breath, unable to keep a little smile off of his face.

"You sound very happy about that," Karen observes.

"I am," Peter admits. "I made up with MJ, which means that everything is back to normal with her and Ned."

"Ah, yes! The two people you are following now?" Karen asks. "Why are you following them if everything is okay?"

Peter blanches, delaying answering the A.I.'s question as he leaps across the gap between buildings. "Well, I guess I wasn't ready to be done seeing them today," he says slowly.

"But if everything is okay, don't you trust them to be alright by themselves?" Karen presses, causing him to wince.

"I mean…" Peter fumbles with the words. As he speaks to Karen, the sort of happy daze he was occupying is beginning to fade. She's making him address the motives behind what he's doing, and, in regular Karen fashion, some feelings that he isn't quite ready to address are coming up in the process. "I guess I just want to make sure."

"So everything's not alright, then," Karen replies. "There's something you're insecure about."

Below, Peter watches as his friends stop, speaking face to face for a moment at the end of a block. He pauses where he is lying in wait at the top of a skyscraper, trying to figure out both what's going on and what to say to Karen.

"I guess there is," Peter admits, and he doesn't like the way that he wants to clench his fists. "I mean… Things were weird, before. I guess that I don't like the way that it was so easy for MJ just to make the decision to take herself out of our lives like that, and Ned and I have been a little strange for a few weeks. Which is my fault, but I guess that things are still a little tense."

"MJ," Karen observes, repeating the name. "Did she ever explain why? Maybe that would give you some closure."

Peter thinks about it for a moment, watching as Ned and MJ begin to part ways. His mind races as he tries to figure out where he's going now. "Well… I mean, she sort of did, but there are still parts that I don't understand."

"So the fact that she hasn't been forthcoming with you is difficult for you to handle," Karen observes. "I understand. But isn't that the same way Ned is feeling right now?"

It's a lot of information for Peter to process, and at that moment, Peter has to make the decision about which of his friends he will follow home. Finally, he notes that MJ's route is going to take her through a rougher part of town, and he begins to follow her as she turns to walk down one of the city's alleyways.

"I guess so," he admits quietly as he follows Karen, keeping his voice lower now. Since Ned and MJ aren't talking to one another, he doesn't have their conversation to mask his noise. He struggles to keep going as a wave of guilt washes over him, provoked by Karen's words. He has been keeping things from Ned… And if he got upset when MJ did the same, then why is he so determined to continue keeping Ned out of his mind?

"But Ned's not the one you're confused about right now," observes Karen.

"What?" Peter stammers as he peers over the edge of the next building, calculating the jump.

"You're not following Ned, you're following MJ," Karen states. "So she's the one who is really confusing you right now."

Peter allows the wind roaring in his ears to keep him from answering for a moment, but when he is safely clinging to the next building, there is no avoiding it. "Well… I don't know," Peter mumbles, frustrated. "I don't know."

"What don't you know, Peter?" Karen prompts.

"I don't know how I feel about her," Peter finally bursts, and his eyes widen when he realize what he's just said. For a moment, Peter is frozen. He practically begs Karen to say something, anything… But the one time that Peter needs some sort of distraction, she is silent. He lets out a breath, and then he shakes his head several times to clear it as he finishes scaling the next building. "Nevermind."

"It's okay, Peter," Karen says, and he winces. "Friends are confusing, and you two have been through a lot. It's natural-"

"Karen, not right now," Peter says as he peers over the edge of the building. Below, in the alleyway, a group of guys have come out of one of the adjoining houses, and they appear to be following her.

"Does she see them coming?" asks Karen. Peter doesn't know the answer at first. She isn't turning around, and she keeps walking. But as he watches, he can see the way her head is tipped slightly to the side, listening, and the almost imperceptible increase in her walking speed.

"She knows," Peter breathes. He can feel anger rushing through him as he watches one of the men whispering to his buddy, and he doesn't even have to ask Karen to let him listen closer.

"-Going to have some fun today," the burly man finishes, and his tone is vile enough to make Peter's skin crawl.

"Activate instant-kill mode?" Karen suggests.

As rage roars through his body, Peter would like nothing more. But what he says is, "No. But be ready for whatever I tell you." At that moment, down below, MJ breaks out into a run. The men following her pick up their own pace, too, and from farther down the alley two more of them cut her off from in front, leaving her no way of escape.

"Afternoon," calls the same man who made the comment, his tone mocking. "Where's a pretty little thing like you going this afternoon?"

Peter doesn't hesitate then. As they move closer to her, he swings down from the top of the building, calling, "I don't think the lady wants to answer. But I'd be happy to have a conversation with you guys!"

The men all turn in that moment to face him, caught off guard. Before he can even reach them, however, MJ is moving at a speed that is even a little fast for Peter. From within an outer pocket of her bag, she grabs a small can of mace, and immediately sprays the tall one square in the face with it. He falls with a cry of pain, and the next one closest to her makes a move towards her.

The man grabs at her throat, but before Peter can come to help, he steps forward, grabbing his own arm to pull herself closer to him. With a force that makes Peter catch his breath, she jabs him in the nook of his throat with two fingers. The man immediately releases her, grabbing for his throat, and the heel of MJ's palm meets his jaw, and then her elbow digs into his ribs.

By this time, Peter is able to help. He fires taser-webs at the other two, effectively knocking them out and plastering them to the side of the building. The one who MJ pepper-sprayed has managed to stumble to his feet by then, but Peter shoots him down again with more taser-webs. MJ lands one more blow on the final delinquent before he manages to turn around and hobbles away.

For a moment, the two of them are alone in the alley, and neither moves. Across from him, MJ is panting, and he can see sweat beaded on her forehead. Her face, in the moment, was fierce and furious. Now, however, Peter can see her hands shaking from the leftover adrenaline. He, too, is shaking, but Peter thinks it might be for a different reason.

It's hard, but Peter manages to keep from rushing to her side. He wants to make sure she's alright, especially after the one who managed to make an attempt at choking her. Her throat probably hurts a lot, might be damaged- he knows that firsthand. And he wants to make sure that she isn't bruised and hurting, that she has someone to take her home. But he can't do that while frozen with adrenaline.

Peter is first to recover, and he lowers his voice in order to say, "Hey, um, are you okay, ma'am?" However, his voice dies as his eyes lower from her face. She turns to face him when he speaks, but she freezes as her eyes move to follow his. Their joint gazes travel down her shoulder, to her forearm, where her sweater was displaced during her struggle.

His eyes lock on the exposed skin of her arm, where, from the wrist up, the designs that decorate her skin are identical to his own.


	9. So You've Gotten Yourself Into A Tangle

MJ can't think, can't breathe, can't move.

Even through the suit, she can feel his gaze burning into the exposed skin on her arm. His eyes trace every spiral and twist in those dark strokes, the ones she had so painstakingly outlined on their skin by the light of a streetlamp. MJ is so, terribly lucky, she decides, that he is wearing the mask. Even the mechanical eyes have a hollow gleam to them, but she can blame that on the suit's design.

MJ does not want to see what is hidden beneath the mask. What if it is disgust, or hatred, or (a much more likely option) pain?

Peter couldn't understand, he wouldn't understand. He probably thinks this is about him, about her not wanting him, when the reality of it is that MJ is a tangled mess. She is an impossible knot that he doesn't deserve to have to unravel. If they were to pursue this, MJ knows he would want to shoulder her burdens as his own, because he is Peter Parker and he is perfect. But MJ doesn't want him to have to; Peter does not need extra worry and pain. Hospital bills, two jobs to balance, her mother's health, her absentee father- MJ has shouldered all of this through her own strength, balancing it precariously. If she tries to shift her weight beneath all of that, what's to stop it all from falling, from becoming another tick on her list of shortcomings?

And the worst part is that MJ knows that's not the real reason she doesn't want this. She can't feel her heart in her chest anymore, and she can't think, and she's scared.

Looking at Peter Parker, MJ is so far beyond terrified.

As his eyes move up to her face, MJ can feel warmth flood it in a heated wave. She reaches for something, anything to say... Some quick remark, maybe a joke? Or an apology, more like. Maybe she could even just turn around and run away. But none of that is an option, because even though MJ is almost always the first to react, something about him has her frozen in the middle of the alleyway, staring into those glossy eyes.

It is Peter who moves first. His shoulders stiffen as he struggles to take in a deep breath, and when he exhales, they slump in a way that breaks MJ's heart. Then, terribly slowly, he turns, and the hero begins to walk away from her.

It is only then that MJ manages to jump into action. She takes a step forward, too, heart suddenly pounding painfully in her chest. The words escape her lips in a tangle before MJ can even remember to remove the desperation from her tone. Her voice is hoarse and raspy, traumatized from being choked.

"Parker, wait."

He freezes then, straightening horribly for a moment with his back turned to her. For a moment, she watches as he draws another breath, and MJ isn't sure he's going to turn around. Then, impossibly fast, Peter is facing her and pulling off the mask that he wears.

As soon as it is off, MJ wishes that he would put it back on.

His brow is furrowed, and his mouth is tight as he stares at her. Those stupid lips are pursed together in frustration, and every line in his forehead speaks to the overexertion he feels. None of this, however, is anything compared to his eyes. Because those warm brown irises hold a depth of anger and betrayal and hurt that MJ could never dream of fixing.

"What?" he bursts, his tone indignant and pained at once. "What, MJ? What could you have to say- what is there that could make this okay?"

MJ is taken aback by his words, and she takes a step back as she looks at him. Her eyes widen as she looks at him, at this boy who has never said anything like that to her. The worst part is that she is not sure if there is an answer to his question.

"I..." Her voice aches in her throat, and she has none of the control she normally would. The hollowness to her voice created by the violent throat hold makes it even more difficult to speak, but the underlying lump in her throat has nothing to do with the struggle. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this."

"You're gonna have to be more specific," Peter exclaims, gesturing at the empty air as his voice rises. His eyes are wide, too, and his messy curls are sticking up at odd angles that make him look like a madman. "Because I don't know if you're talking about the fact that you decided that giving me the cold shoulder would fix this, or the fact that you know the biggest secret of my life and didn't think to tell me, or- Oh, I dunno, the fact that you're my soulmate?"

MJ inhales, pursing her lips as she struggles with how to answer. "All of it," she retorts, her voice filled with an awful finality as it fills the space between them. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. And I never meant to hurt you."

"Well, you did!" Peter's voice rises in pitch, and it breaks at the end as he rakes a hand through his hair in an agitated fashion. MJ can feel her heart breaking as the hurt in his eyes overflows to brimming. "You did, MJ. Because first, you made me need you, and then you left, and then you knew that I was hurting, and you knew why, and you didn't do anything about it. What am I supposed to do about that?"

"You think I didn't need you, too?" MJ fires back, stepping towards him. She can feel her eyes blazing as she looks down at the boy, agitated and flustered and so unsure about how to explain. "Dammit, Parker, I've never cared about anyone the way that I care about you and Leeds. Don't you ever suggest otherwise."

"If you really cared, then why didn't you tell me?" Those last two words leave his lips with such longing that MJ bites back a wince. Peter steps closer, too, his eyes seeming to search her in a way that makes her feel bare. "You know me, MJ! You know what I've been through, you know... About Ben, about May, and you even knew about what Ned and I were dealing with."

"You don't get to talk to me about Ned," MJ fires back, raising an eyebrow. Her tone is growing more and more heated with his, and she sees no stopping it. "You don't. Because do you know what? These past few weeks, I've been being the person you're supposed to be for him. You've been hiding things, too. I'm not trying to blame you for it or accuse you of anything, but don't you dare pretend you can't even understand why I did it."

"I don't!" Peter bursts. He tosses the mask onto the pavement with such frustration that MJ blinks in surprise. She does not, however, step back for an instant. "I don't understand. Because I may have kept things from him, but I never kept them from you."

MJ laughs, but there is no mirth in it as she shakes her head. "For all your talking, Parker, you're missing the damn point. The point is that we both kept things from people we cared about, and you don't get to judge me without at least trying to comprehend why I did it."

"That's because I can't!" He shakes his head vehemently, his hands rising as he presses his fingers against his temple. "I can't. I can't comprehend pushing away my soulmate the way you did, especially if I knew them in real life. I can't comprehend throwing away this chance before taking it."

"Well, you know what?" MJ bursts, yanking her sleeve down to hide the ink. "Maybe that's because you don't know me as well as you thought."

Peter blinks, and the hurt that flashes across his face makes her regret saying it. She can't take it back anymore, however, and so she doesn't try. "MJ-"

"No," she interrupts, shaking her head. "No." MJ never allows herself get this worked up, but she can feel it bubbling up in her chest as she faces him and looks into those eyes, the ones that seem to beg her to share her secrets.

"You don't. You don't. You don't know anything about me. You don't know that my mom and my dad were soulmates. They were, right? They were 'supposed' to be together, forever. And they were made for each other, but in all the wrong goddamn ways. He treated her like shit, Parker, and she took it because she thought that just because fate decided they were supposed to be together, she had to honor it. And then, when she got sick, he left."

There are tears in her eyes now, tears of anger and injustice and so much pain. Peter's eyes have widened, and he is staring at her in a mix of shock, horror, and awe. She can tell he wants to take back what he's said, but she doesn't give him a chance.

"He left, and she couldn't work thanks to the treatments. So you know who has to work? Me. You know who had to help my mom move the few things he left us with out of our house and into an apartment where she barely gets any sun, where she's freezing at night? Me. You know who has to budget every goddamn cent I make to make sure that she doesn't die? Me. And I can handle it. But God damn it, I shouldn't have to."

Several of the tears have fallen now, and MJ doesn't make any move to brush them away. Instead, she steps closer to him, impossibly close. She doesn't care that she probably looks awful, that she probably has bruising around her neck and that her nose is running and that she is more vulnerable than she's ever been with anyone. MJ needs him to understand.

"But I do have to, and it's all because fate said so. So I'm not giving fate any more control over me. Even if... Even if it looks good on the surface."

Even if I want to.

Peter is so close that MJ could count every one of his eyelashes, so close that if she leaned a little forward and a little down, she could brush that stupid frog mouth with her own. But she doesn't. Instead, she watches as his eyes wrestle with a complicated tangle of emotions, as his lips open and then close and then open again as he decides what to say.

When he finally speaks, MJ can practically taste his words across the few inches between them.

"You're right." His voice is shaky as he speaks, but there is steel to it that MJ has never heard before. "You're right, MJ. That isn't fair, fate isn't fair."

His hand rises to her face, and MJ can see it shaking as he brings it to touch her cheek. MJ is frozen, unable to move, and his fingers brush over the skin of her cheekbone, traveling it experimentally in a way that makes her heart a sputtering, jumping car engine. And then her gaze is locked on his dark, warm eyes as he drives his point home.

"But maybe fate doesn't have to be fair. Maybe we can be okay with that, because fate brought me you."

His voice is quiet and earnest and tentative all at once, and MJ is not sure about anything anymore. She is not sure what to do with her hands, which want to reach up and capture his fingers where they are resting against her skin, causing warm tingles to dance across her face. She is not sure about her eyes, which want to take in his dark, warm irises, the messy curls that she knows no amount of smoothing could tame, the lips that are trying to shatter her whole world in two sentences.

For just a moment, MJ wants to give in.

"I can't do this." Her voice aches in her throat, but this time MJ thinks it has less to do with the chokehold and more to do with the lump rooted there. She steps back, pulling away even though every little bit of her just wants to press closer. "I can't."

Peter's eyes widen, and she watches as the warmth in them ebbs away all at once. That only causes the lump to grow bigger- that is her fault, the fading of her favorite thing about Peter Parker. His eyes don't leave her face- they are begging and pleading for her to stay.

"MJ," Peter breathes, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. "Please."

MJ hates that one word from him is enough to break her. But if she is going to break, she can't do it here. She can't do it in front of him, not when she knows that he would be more than willing to put her together- and especially not when she knows that he shouldn't have to.

As difficult as it is, she manages to transform her face to a mask of stone to hide all emotion. All MJ can manage is one slight, painful shake of her head, and she tears her eyes away from his own before she turns away from him, taking the path home. Peter doesn't follow, and MJ is grateful for the wind as she leaves.

She is pretty sure it hides her slightly trembling shoulders, and it quickly dries the tracks of the few tears that manage to escape her eyes and streak down her emotionless face.


	10. So You've Realized It'll All Work Out

Peter doesn't know how long he stays out, perched at the top of a building in the freezing cold and staring down at the city below. He doesn't intervene, not tonight- there doesn't seem to be anything happening below. There's just the chaos of the city, the same hubbub he's grown up with. There are flashing lights, a quiet hum of cars and voices, and the smells of the various stores that mix together below into a shifting current that is Queens.

It's his city, but right now he wishes he was miles away.

MJ knew. Peter can't pound the thought out of his head as he stares into the streets below him. She knew, and she didn't tell him. MJ must have known ever since that day she found him writing on his arm, because she would have felt it on her own. He had known that his soulmate was clever, known they were an artist, but he hadn't made the connection.

Michelle Jones had, but she doesn't want him.

MJ hadn't wanted a soulmate, not from the very beginning. It doesn't matter that it is him, part of him murmurs. She isn't rejecting him, she is rejecting the concept of their connection in general. But when he had stood there, facing her, it had suddenly been so much more real. This is so much more than some faceless stranger, the nameless soul that has been hovering on the edges of his thoughts for weeks. Before, his soulmate had just been a concept, something clean and compartmentalized for him to revisit occasionally.

Now, it's MJ, and it's so much messier.

Now, Peter can't separate the quick, charged conversations on skin from MJ's witty comebacks, the ones that always lift his spirits. He can't keep the doodles on the corner of her borrowed notes from blurring with the lines that twine and twist together on his forearms. It all winds together: dark strokes of permanent marker and lemon shampoo and tingling skin and stolen glances, all tangled and twisted together like MJ's own kinky curls.

But none of that is really what's bothering him. He doesn't care about the confusion, or the secrets, or even the fact that she doesn't want him as her soulmate.

He cares that she didn't trust him.

Peter's eyes narrow and latch onto a corner of the street below, watching as the light turns from green to red. The cars across the intersection go screeching to a halt, and a few go through anyway, narrowly avoiding collision with other cars. Peter doesn't move to help, not tonight. It's Queens- it'll be fine without him, without him being nosy and trying to interfere and making everything messier than it needs to be.

Is that why she didn't tell him?

Peter knows he shouldn't take offense. They haven't been friends for nearly as long as he and Ned have, after all... Maybe she didn't feel proven, wasn't sure if she was as essential to Peter as Ned was? It isn't her fault that he didn't say anything, not her fault that he did not think to mention once over the past few months how much she matters to him. She's something that he can't quite separate from himself, the same way Ned is. And sure, maybe she hasn't been that way for as long, but time doesn't matter: Peter knew how important she was from the very start. He just never thought to tell her... Only to show her.

They've been friends for months now, and he's told her so much. He's told her about May, about his friendship with Ned, about the little thoughts that fly in and out of his head all day. And sure, he didn't tell her about his soulmate, or about Spiderman, but- well, she's his soulmate, dammit! She didn't even want to talk, so he hardly thinks she would have wanted him to share it, and she didn't tell him either. And Spiderman... That was something bigger, bigger than any of them. She couldn't have expected him to share it after less than a year, it wasn't safe. But she knows everything else, everything important.

And sure, it was her right to tell him, but she hadn't.

Peter knew when they first began to talk that she was a loner, but he hadn't known to what extent. Now he understands. MJ has been by herself forever, for as long as she's been alive. With parents like that, he knows that she must have been self-sufficient from a young age. She's used to operating alone, and she's used to carrying all of the weight of her family by herself. But she shouldn't have to be, and something aches in Peter to think of how suffocating her life must feel sometimes.

How many nights has she spent alone? How many hours has she spent lonely, trying not to think about it in her annoyingly stubborn way and sketching out feelings she doesn't want to confront? Peter doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about her huddling over piles of bills in her room by herself, trying to fight away the panic. He doesn't want to think about MJ listening to fighting outside her door, about her waiting for test results that would never be in her favor, or about her realizing that there was no one else left to fight her mother's monsters.

He doesn't want to, but all that Peter can think about is all the times he wasn't there for Michelle Jones.

When the chill of the night finally begins to bite a little bit too deep, Peter stands instead of turning on his suit's heater. As he begins the routine of swinging back, Peter feels heavier than he normally does. The weight he is carrying isn't physical. It's the weight of knowing that he may be wrong, the weight of understanding why she did what she did. And more than anything, it's the weight of not knowing how to fix it.

When Peter arrives home, it's late. He isn't sure what the time is, but he's positive that it's long after curfew. Peter knows that May will be worried, but part of him still hopes that May will have gone to bed as he sneaks in through his bedroom window.

Of course, he's not that lucky.

It's only after he's closed the window and turned around that Peter sees the figure sitting on his bed. She's not speaking, not moving- only staring at him through the thick lenses of her glasses with large, dark eyes. The comforting irises that Peter so often seeks refuge in are conflicted, filled with sadness and confusion and uncertainty and maybe a little bit of hurt. For a moment, the two of them stare at one another, and then Peter cracks. He slides off the mask, looking away from her so he doesn't have to see any disappointment in her eyes.

"Sorry," he murmurs as he turns to his desk, setting the mask down. For a moment, Peter remains with his back turned. He knows May can read his voice, his body language, and he knows that she is going to see right through him. There's no point hiding it.

After a moment, Peter can hear her shift on the bed. His hearing picks up the crumpling of his coverlet in her hands. She's uncertain, she's nervous, and she doesn't know what to say. The movement tells him that and more as he listens to her take a sharp breath. But she blazes ahead anyway, because she's May and she loves him.

"You don't have to tell me what happened, Peter." Peter's fists curl up loosely on an old homework sheet as he takes a breath, struggling to bat away the wave of shame that is washing over him. Of course she isn't asking anything of him, because she's the one who's been there for him all of this time. She's the one he didn't let in.

For a minute, Peter is quiet. His mouth feels like it is bolted shut as he looks up at his wall, and he wants to keep his lips closed and never talk about it again. But Peter feels a little prodding and poking, something that tells him that maybe this is how MJ felt. And if she felt like she couldn't let him in and it hurt him as much as it did, then the least he can do is let May into his mind.

So, after a moment, Peter manages to open his mouth. The words don't come right away, but May waits patiently until they do.

"I messed up, May. I messed up big time."

May is quiet for a moment, but Peter can hear her release a breath of relief. She knows that he is talking, and Peter knows that she believes what he is hoping: that as long as it's the two of them, taking it on together, it will be alright.

"Are you sure?" May asks. She isn't questioning what he feels, however. She's not trying to invalidate his feelings, she's just trying to understand them. "Is it something that feels horrible now, but that you can fix? Or is it totally broken?"

Peter exhales as he turns around, still bracing himself off of his desk as he meets her eyes. May's face is composed, but there is an earnest gleam in her eyes that manages to bring a little bit of warmth to his chilled body. "I don't know," he answers honestly, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I know that I want to fix it, but it feels like..." Peter hesitates, shaking his head. "It feels like there's no way of untangling it. I don't know what I could possibly do."

May nods slowly, breathing before she takes another, tentative step forwards. "I might be able to help you, Peter," she points out, a comforting hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "I know you better than you think, kiddo. And these past few weeks, something's been off. Maybe I'm not a Tony Stark problem-solver, but-"

Peter doesn't know what to do with the fondness that rises in his throat at those words, so he makes a split-second decision to turn and reach for May, pulling her into a comforting hug like he used to when he was younger. May immediately wraps her arm around him, holding him the way that she used to when he was a kid without a mom or dad and he needed to be shielded from the world. She's always been his refuge, and Peter knows that she always will be a safe haven. May is home, and maybe it's good that he's gotten the chance to remind her of that.

Peter doesn't need Tony, not at this moment. He just needs his Aunt May.

"It's Ned," he murmurs from within the hug, letting out a heavy breath. "I messed up with him, May. And with MJ, and I don't know how to fix it."

"What happened, honey?" May asks, her voice sympathetic but not smothering as she finally releases him from her hold. "Is this about what you asked me, about soulmates?"

Peter shrugs noncommittally, looking away from her and down to the coverlet. "I mean... Lots of things happened," he admits truthfully. "I wasn't there for them when they needed me."

"Your soulmate?" May presses. "Or MJ and Ned?"

Peter pauses in his activity of tracing a pattern with his finger into the blanket, glancing up at her. For a moment, he grapples with how to answer. It's simplest just to say, "All of them."

May frowns slightly, but it is not disappointed. Rather, it is a sort of mystified expression trying to understand what it is that is upsetting him. She is quiet, just letting him have some time to his thoughts for a bit. Finally, she says, "You know, nothing you do could ever let me down."

Peter turns to face her. "What?" he questions slowly, unsure how what she just said connects to everything else that he is feeling. He's feeling frustration and betrayal and disappointment and self-loathing, and that's what she wants to tell him?

"You won't ever let me down," May repeats, her lips quirking up slightly at the corners as her eyes meet his (maybe a little swollen) ones. "You can fu- uhm, mess up, or you can go all 'dark side' and burn down a building, or you can move all the way across the country. You can maybe even hurt someone really deeply."

Peter feels his cheeks flush as he looks into her eyes, the ones that have that knowing look that is both infuriating and comforting to him.

"But..." May reaches to take one of the hands that is in his lap. "You have me. Maybe I'm not MJ, or Ned, or your soulmate. But even if all of those people go away, there's someone who loves you for exactly who you are, and someone who trusts you to love them back."

Peter doesn't know why there is a lump forming in his throat, but he can't help it. The hug is a sudden one. It's tight and it's at a weird angle and it smells a little bit like the burnt lasagna that he's sure is in the oven, but it's exactly what he needs at that moment.

"Your life might be hard without them, kiddo," May mumbles into his hair as she runs a hand up and down his back reassuringly. "But you don't need them, even if you'd like to have them. So don't be afraid to let go- if you hold something too tight, you might crush it on accident."

Peter doesn't know how long they sit there. It ends with the screaming of the smoke alarm, some swearing, and May leaving in a flurry to go and try to scrape the lasagna off the oven bottom, but as Peter sits in his room by himself, he knows that he feels better.

Not good. There's still Ned, there's still MJ, there's still the whole soulmate mess. But better.

Better because he knows he isn't alone. Better because he's got someone to return to, even if everything spins out and his whole world falls apart.

Better because he knows what to do.

It's simple, really.

A phone call, and a long one. It lasts about three hours, in total, and the whole time Peter feels like he's walking on legos. But every time he's tempted to skirt around something, skip over something in shame, he reminds himself that he owes this to Ned. He owes him the truth, he owes him an explanation, and more than anything? He owes him an apology.

There's a lot of awkward silence at first, really. But then Ned begins to jump in, and with each comment, Peter can feel them gaining back some ground. Soon, he and Ned are talking about Betty, too, and Peter gets to hear real, strong happiness in Ned's voice for the first time since they were a lot younger.

When Peter asks Ned if he's okay with Peter and MJ, the response he gets is: "Why wouldn't I be? The only problem with it is that she's way out of your league, but I don't get to talk about that."

He's terribly, horribly right, and Peter knows this. That's what makes it so hard for Peter after he's scarfed down the charred pasta, showered, and returned to his room. It's easy to know what to do, but so much harder to do it, so Peter lingers on his desk chair a while, staring at nothing out his window. But after a bit, he finally gathers the gumption to turn to his desk, pick up the sharpie he first used to write to her, and roll up his sleeve.

The drawings are still there.

They take away his breath again for a moment as he looks at them... The faded lines- some broad, some thin- that weave a web over his skin, the web of Michelle Jones that Peter is hopelessly tangled in. They're intricate and brilliant and complex and all of the same things that she is, the things that she will always be no matter if he is by her side or not. They are what he has to lose, and they are so much.

But he can't lose something he doesn't have, and he understands that now.

Even if fate has given him a connection to her, MJ is not his, and she never will be. And that's okay.

When he presses the blue marker to his skin, he takes a sharp breath. The ink soaks into his skin and he knows that at that moment, her body is listening. That's enough, even if she doesn't respond.

I understand.

The words are heavy on his fingers, but he presses them in anyway until they are indelible, as permanent a part of him as she is.

You don't have to say anything. But I know why you didn't tell me, and I know why you don't want this. And that's okay. I won't write again, and we can go back to what we had before if you want that. If you're in my life in any way I'll be happy, and if you don't want to be, that's okay, too.

Peter has the sharpie capped on his desk, and he is about to roll down his sleeve when he finds himself stopping. Suddenly, it's in his hand again and the blue cap is falling into his lap as he writes one last word, the one that he wrote to her the first night they spoke.

Goodnight.

Peter caps the sharpie, shuts off the light, and climbs into bed. There's a strange knot of feelings in his stomach, some good, some bad. But more than that, there's peace, and he's ready to accept whatever happens.

It is when he is just about to fall asleep that he feels it. Peter sits up immediately, rolling over and yanking his sleeve up so that he can look at his forearm in the dim light. What he is looking for is located between two of the crossed lines, in a small gap that fits so well with the others he did not even notice it before.

It's a small drop of ink, and it tingles with warmth like a drop of sunlight on his skin, shining in a bedroom at 11:00 at night in Queens.

The next day is a long one, and Peter doesn't see MJ for any of it.

Her adopted seat at the back is empty, and no matter how deeply he breathes Peter can't pick up the scent of citrus shampoo anywhere in the air. Her dry alto doesn't cut through any of his lectures, and her comments aren't there to fuel him through his day, even if they're not aimed at him. Even the lines of black are gone- when he woke up, they were washed away, and the only ink that remains on his skin is his sharpie from last night, which must have been too stubborn.

The school day drags on impossibly long, longer than he even could have imagined. How did he ever survive the day without MJ in his life, he wonders to himself as he sits through his ninth hour class?

What if he has to for good, now?

Peter tries not to think about that. He's going to respect her decision, he reminds himself. He will make sure that he isn't pushing her, isn't trying to hold so tight to their relationship that he causes it to crumble. And maybe, if he's willing to let go, she'll come back to him on her own. Even if she just wants to be friends.

However, Peter's expecting it to take a little bit of time.

At the end of the day, there's decathlon, and that's when Peter knows it's going to sting the most. He can't think of a day where MJ wasn't with him in this room, climbing on that stage and ringing the bells with more speed and precision than he ever could dream of. But he'll get used to it- heck, he can even use this to motivate himself, right? He's going to prove that he cares, that he cares about this thing that matters to her even if she doesn't want to spend time with him anymore, because maybe it's the little bit of MJ he gets to keep no matter what.

Peter zips open his backpack as he steps into the room, last. "Don't worry, Parker," Flash crows from across the room. "No matter how late you are, you're never in danger of being fashionable."

"Nice, Flash," Peter mumbles absently as he plops his bag on a chair and begins to dig for the laminated flashcards MJ made him. He doesn't care.

"Kind of like no matter how hard you roll your eyes, you're in no danger of finding a brain up there."

When he hears her voice, Peter freezes. The cards that he just found in his bag slip from between his fingers, becoming all mixed and wedged between his books. Next to him, Ned's head snaps up from his chart so fast that Peter thinks he might get whiplash. He, on the other hand, takes his time raising his eyes, scared that when he looks up he won't see her.

MJ is standing in the doorway, and her brown eyes immediately pierce into his like push-pins.

She looks like she got no sleep- so they're even on that one, then, since he tossed and turned all night. Her curls are loose and messy around her face, probably just pulled down from a ponytail based on the way that they're laying. She's wearing her favorite jacket around her waist and a pair of loose pants, and she looks great like she always does, but that's not what Peter's focused on.

His eyes travel to the blue ink that is showing on her arm beneath her short sleeve, and then they move to her face, where a hint of uncertainty glimmers in her eyes despite her confident expression. Peter can't help it. A little smile slides onto his lips, which are slightly parted, and even if it's lopsided he knows that his eyes are telling her what he is feeling.

In that moment, something clicks.

MJ begins to stride towards him, her combat boots crossing the floor of the room more quickly than he's ever seen them do before. Everyone is watching as she approaches Peter, stopping so that they are inches apart, but she doesn't seem to care. In fact, there is something unfamiliar and awe-inspiring in her eyes as MJ leans down and presses her lips to his, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

He closes his eyes, stiffening against her at first before he relaxes.

Lemon... She smells like lemon.

Peter hums against her lips as they kiss, and a tentative hand comes to cup the back of her neck, tangling in those curls in a way that only makes the smell stronger. She tastes like some sort of tea, deep and earthy and slightly sweet against his own lips as they allow their lips to tell each other things that ink never could. It is warm and it is new and it is powerful, and it's-

"Disgusting." Flash's words cause the two of them to break apart, though Peter doesn't move away and neither does she. His eyes open first, but she takes her sweet time opening her own. Her thick eyelashes rise and fall once, twice, as she blinks away the shock and the awe that is left lingering over the both of them. Her eyes find his immediately, and they relax as they search his face, almost lazily. They have time, and Peter knows that MJ is drinking that in. So much time.

"Shove it, Flash," Ned responds distantly, not even bothering to look away from Peter and MJ. There is the ghost of a smile on his face, and as Peter and MJ turn to face the rest of him, he offers Peter two proud thumbs up.

"Really, Parker?" Flash demands, stepping towards Peter. "Come on, none of us want to see you suck face in the middle of practice, that's a mental image I'm never gonna erase. And Jones, I thought you had standards? What the f-"

"-Flashcards." MJ's interruption is slightly breathy as she turns her body to face him directly, raising an eyebrow. Though she is slightly less intimidating with swollen lips and wide eyes, she still isn't someone that Peter would want to mess with.

Flash takes a step backward, stammering, "What?"

"Get your flashcards." MJ's voice is almost normal now, though Peter can hear a little bit of a catch in it still. Is it from the chokehold she endured yesterday, or from the moment they just shared? Peter knows which one is more likely, but he also knows which one he would prefer. "Let's go. You can try, but there's no way in hell that anyone is going to beat me today."

Peter can't keep a grin from his face as he turns to his bag to dump it out and rescue his cards from where they are wedged between the pages of his books. As the rest of the team settles around a table, MJ herds them in the right direction until she is the last one standing. She faces him, narrowing her eyes in what only Peter or Ned could recognize as an expression of playful impatience.

"Come on, Parker," she hums. "We don't have all the time in the world." Her eyes soften just a fraction at those last words, and the retort that was on his tongue melts away as he looks at her. She pauses, taking in their little moment just for a second longer.

Then, she's turning, and Peter's left in the dust to ring the bell as MJ rings the first bell.

"Alright: The only type of poisonous spider found in Queens. Leeds, if you don't know this-"


End file.
